Ignominy
by Frost Deejn
Summary: The investigation into two seemingly unrelated deaths leads to the discovery of a serial killer who stages her murders to look like accidents or suicides. Finding the Misadventure Killer becomes a race against time when Eric disappears.
1. The Mistake

Disclaimer: I did not create and in no way profit from _CSI: Miami_.

**Ignominy**

Chapter 1: The Mistake

There was nothing unusual about the body on Dr. Price's exam table, a tall Hispanic male found smashed on the pavement beneath his seventh-floor apartment.

"Any sign of foul play?" Kyle asked.

"You've been watching too many detective shows," Dr. Price replied. "This looks like accident or suicide. Nothing stolen from the wallet, which was still in his pocket, and other than the perimortem broken bones, Freeman Lara wasn't injured."

"What's this stuff in his hair?"

Dr. Price took a closer look at the victim's black hair. When he was brought in, it had been wet from last night's rain, but now that it was drying a few tiny black flecks were brushing off of it.

"Could be dried blood, but he doesn't have a head injury. Let's send it to Trace."

* * *

"Horatio."

He'd been on his way to see Frank about a case they were about to close when he heard Valera call to him from the DNA lab. He stopped to see what was bothering her.

Her eyes were wide and she seemed nervous. "I just want you to know that I don't think I messed up. I had Natalia double-check my results. I was in the DNA lab the whole time the sample was running, and there was no chance of contamination."

"Okay. What case were you working?"

"Yesterday Dr. Price autopsied a suicide victim with some flecks in his hair that turned out to be dried blood. I just got around to running it this morning." Before she could finish, Valera's eyes snapped to something over Horatio's shoulder. He turned to see Rick Stetler enter, looking smug.

"Rick," Horatio greeted him with his characteristic complete lack of exuberance.

"Horatio. Miss Valera. A possible contamination of DNA evidence, something like that could really hurt your lab's reputation."

"There was no contamination, Rick. The results were accurate," he said with confidence that hid the fact he wasn't sure what those results were. He would talk to Valera later about how Rick managed to find out about this before he did.

"Really? Your own DNA tech admits the DNA could have come from another sample in her lab."

"No! What I _said _is that the DNA matched another sample I was running this morning, one from an unidentified drowning victim from weeks ago. It was low-priority..."

"Miss Valera," Horatio said, stopping her. He then addressed the IAB agent. "Rick, how about you leave my lab, and I will call you when this gets cleared up."

He smiled. "Right. A mistake like this, there's going to be an investigation."

Horatio watched him walk away. "Miss Valera?"

"After Natalia double-checked, I submitted the results. I included the possibility of contamination in the report just to be thorough. I had no idea that IAB even knew about it until I got the call a few minutes ago that Stetler was on his way. I was going to tell you earlier, but you were busy closing that Jackson case."

"I understand. Tell me about the lab results."

"That's about all we know right now. Somehow, DNA from a John Doe who died three weeks ago was found on a body from two days ago."

"The Lara case. Interesting. Have you run John Doe's DNA through CODIS yet?"

"No hits. I was about to run it through some other databases."

"Do it. Keep me informed."

"I will."

She returned to her lab. Horatio pulled out his cellphone. "Mr. Wolfe, there may be a situation developing. Meet me in Autopsy."


	2. Every Care

Chapter 2: Every Care

"Freeman Lara was killed by the fall. TOD between two and four o'clock yesterday morning. His blood alcohol level was high, but none of his injuries were defensive wounds," Dr. Price said.

Horatio looked over the cadaver on the slab. "Mr. Wolfe, this is your case; what did you find in the victim's apartment?"

"There wasn't anything out of the ordinary. No suicide note, but no evidence of a struggle either. His boss said he hadn't been to work in three days, and didn't call. His family said he wasn't depressed that they knew of, but they didn't keep in close touch with him. He did have a prescription for anti-depressants." He shook his head. "The way he fell didn't indicate he was pushed. It looked like a suicide, H."

"And it still could be. The question is, how did John Doe's blood get on Mr. Lara?"

"You know," Dr. Price responded, "that doesn't make much sense. John Doe's body washed up on the beach in scuba gear, and there wasn't a scratch on him. How his blood got in the hair of another body weeks later..."

"Did the two men have anything in common?" Horatio questioned.

"They both appear to be in their late twenties, both fit and healthy. Like almost sixty percent of Miami-Dade County, they're both Hispanic. Other than that..." she shook her head. "Lara had nothing in his digestive track. He hadn't ingested anything but alcohol for at least twenty-four hours. John Doe had a protein shake within hours of death, and no drugs in his system."

"Lara had family, and a job," Ryan added, "but no one's reported John Doe missing. They don't appear to be related."

"And yet they are connected. Was there anything suspicious about either of these deaths?"

Dr. Price was thoughtful. "Nothing definitive, but Freeman Lara showed no signs of long-term alcohol abuse, and John Doe's muscular development didn't look like he was a frequent swimmer."

"Lara's apartment doesn't have a surveillance system, and none of his neighbors saw him or anyone unfamiliar around the place that night. The people in the apartment next to his said they thought he'd been gone for a few days, but it wasn't exactly a close community. The door was unlocked, but the only fingerprints on it were his."

Horatio nodded. "Mr. Wolfe, I want you and Calleigh to revisit the case. Go over every piece of evidence, interview his family, coworkers, and friends, find out everything there is to know about Freeman Lara."

"His apartment's already been released. Any evidence still there could be compromised."

"I understand, but something connects Lara with John Doe, and we're going to find it."

"Okay." Ryan took out his cellphone to call Calleigh as he left the morgue.

"Dr. Price," Horatio continued, "do we still have John Doe's body?"

"Yes." She closed the compartment containing Freeman Lara and pulled out another slab. The unidentified man had once been handsome, with thick black hair and a sharply angular jaw line. "Obviously his fingerprints aren't in the system, and his teeth suggest he grew up somewhere with less than adequate access to modern dentistry."

"If he's an illegal immigrant, it could explain why no one reported him missing," Horatio noted. "So we have an immigrant who eats health food and dies in a scuba accident, and a man who goes on a drinking binge and jumps off his balcony. It almost looks like...someone was trying to tell a story about these men. Someone who knew better than to try to fake a suicide note."

"Maybe. At any rate, the blood evidence is enough for me to rule the circs for both these deaths suspicious."

* * *

Ryan and Calleigh entered Lara's apartment.

"I bagged everything I thought might be probative," Ryan said. "There was nothing that really stood out."

Calleigh glanced around. "Was this place this clean when you first got to it?"

"Just about. There were some food wrappers and bottles in the garbage and on the coffee table. Why?"

She looked into the bathroom and the bedroom. The apartment was small and old, but relatively organized. "Looks pretty tidy for someone who supposedly went on a three-day bender."

"The thought crossed my mind too, but it wasn't enough on its own to suggest murder. But there was no blood in the apartment, so how it got in the victim's hair is beyond me."

"I probably would've come to the same conclusion," Calleigh said, examining the sparse and ordinary contents of the medicine cabinet. "It's almost like there's too little evidence to go on in this case."

"Yeah. You know, Stetler's looking over our shoulders on this one. You and Eric might want to avoid each other for a while."

She rolled her eyes. "When are you going to stop implying there's something going on between me and Eric?"

"When are you going to just accept that I know?"

* * *

Eric was examining the air hose of the John Doe's scuba gear with a magnifying glass when Natalia walked in. "Working on the Lara case?"

"Yeah. H wants me to see if there was any sign of foul play in John Doe's death."

"And?"

"No evidence of sabotage. As far as I can tell, his oxygen ran out and he just suffocated. He should have been swimming with a partner or been watched from a boat. Someone should have reported him missing."

"Maybe he did have a partner whose body just hasn't washed up yet," she suggested.

"Either way, we should ask Coast Guard if they've recovered any unoccupied boats in the last couple of weeks."

"I'll give them a call." She turned to leave only to find Stetler standing in the door. He didn't look like he'd just arrived.

"Let me guess," he said, "you still haven't found anything connecting John Doe to the other body."

"We're scientists," Eric retorted, trying not to glare. "We don't form a conclusion until all the evidence is in. You should know that."

"What I know is that this lab doesn't have a perfect record of rigidly adhering to protocol. The integrity of the evidence is exactly what I'm here to protect."

"How noble of you," Natalia said, allowing just a hint of resentment into her voice. "Now if you excuse me, we have a case to solve." She sidestepped him and left the room.

Stetler watched Eric for a moment.

"Something else you wanted to say?" Eric asked.

"Just keep in mind that every time an anomaly like this crops up, it makes the lab that much less credible. The DNA result opened the door to this investigation, but I'll be looking at every procedure, every potential conflict of interest, every dark corner of the lab for any irregularity that could potentially jeopardize the cases processed here. If something comes out implicating any individual CSI, I'd hate to see the rest of the lab suffer for it."

"Thanks for the heads up, but if anything or anyone in the lab weren't up to code, it would have come out in the FBI probe three years ago."

"A lot can change in three years," Stetler noted.

"One thing that hasn't changed is that if you're looking for someone to help you take down Horatio, you won't find them here." He stared at the IAB agent challengingly, daring him to refute his implied accusation.

"It's not like he's the only one here with a questionable record." With that, Stetler left. Eric went back to examining the scuba gear.

* * *

"You run a very efficient lab," Stetler said as Valera set up some DNA samples for sequencing.

"I have to," she said without looking at him, "considering how many cases come through here."

"You ever cut corners to catch up on the backlog?"

"Never. And if I did, why would I admit it to you?"

"Well, with everyone demanding immediate results, everyone asking you to prioritize their cases, you can't avoid getting careless every now and again. Mistakes happen. You know that as well as anyone."

"You know, I don't work as efficiently with people looking over my shoulder. Do you really want to be the cause of even more of a backlog that could delay cases getting solved and allow criminals more time to run?"

Stetler smirked. At that moment, his cellphone rang. He checked the number and answered it. "Stetler...Yeah." He suddenly frowned, turned quickly and took his phone call into the corridor. Valera watched him. His expression flickered between annoyance and confusion. "Did they say why? When should I expect him?" He flipped the phone shut and glanced back at the DNA lab, looking like a penniless kid at the window of a candy shop, looking like once again his hope of deposing Horatio as head of the crime lab was just beyond his reach. He left the building without another word to anyone.


	3. Starting Points

Chapter 3: Starting Points

At the call center where Freeman Lara worked, Ryan and Calleigh finally caught a break.

"I can't believe he's dead," said coworker Ansel Thompson. "The guy was always so fun. He never took anything seriously. I don't think he even...I don't think the thought crossed his mind that he'd ever die."

"So when he didn't show up to work for three days, you didn't get worried?" Ryan inquired.

"I just figured he quit. He'd only been working here for a few months, and he was always complaining that this place cramped his style. He invited me out to a club the last day he was here, so the first day he didn't show up I figured he was out with a hangover."

"What club did he go to?" asked Calleigh.

"A new place called L.A. Ra. He wanted to check it out. I wanted to go, but I had my mom coming to town the next day and had to get my apartment clean."

"Did Freeman mention meeting anyone at the club?"

"No. But outside of work and partying, I really don't know the guy that well."

"Thank you, Mr. Thompson," Calleigh said. "You've been very helpful."

"Glad I could help."

* * *

"Hey H, have you seen Eric?" Natalia inquired.

"He's in the fingerprints lab taking a second look at the evidence from Lara's apartment. Why?"

"I've been looking at crime reports around the time John Doe died, and one marina reported a break in. Apparently a motorboat was taken in the middle of the night, the chain was cut, but it was found anchored right outside the marina that morning, so it was written off as an act of vandalism."

"Interesting. Who reported it missing?"

"The marina's manager. The responding officer noted that he seemed upset the crime wasn't being taken more seriously."

"When Eric is done with the fingerprints, I want the two of you to follow up on the report."

"Gotcha." She nodded at the file he was carrying. "What do you got?"

"What I've got is my hands full with IAB. Stetler is up to something."

"Maxine said he got a phone call earlier that didn't make him happy. If it was bad news for him it's probably good news for us."

"Let's hope so."

Natalia continued to the fingerprints lab. Eric was looking at a photograph under a microscope, frowning with concentration.

"You look like you found something," she observed.

"Take a look at this print." He moved aside and she took his place at the microscope.

"This from the victim's apartment?"

"From his doorknob. His were the only fingerprints found at the apartment. What does that look like to you?"

"It looks smudged," she answered.

"Yeah. I've been trying to recreate the pattern." He indicated a plastic sheet covered with fingerprints dusted with the same powder Ryan had used to lift the prints from the doorknob.

Natalia examined them. "This one looks about right." She pointed to one at the end.

"I made that by letting the print sit for a few minutes and then pressing on it with my hand in a latex glove."

"Someone opened the door after he did? Someone wearing gloves?"

"Maybe. Unfortunately that will be impossible to prove in court."

"But it does make it look less like suicide." She suddenly remembered the reason she was looking for him. "I may have another lead. A boat taken from a marina the night John Doe died. It was stolen and returned."

"Dead people don't return stolen property."

"Exactly. Want to go check it out?"

"Yeah. Let me just clean up here."

* * *

"I told the police officer when I made the report that something had to be done or this kind of thing gets more serious," said John Orson, the manager of the marina.

"Has the boat been used or cleaned since it was returned?" Eric asked.

"Well, yeah. I do have a business to run. And the boat rental business is slow enough as it is these days. You know, the cops took one look at it and told me I was lucky whoever took it didn't trash it. It was probably some drunk joyriders, they said."

Natalia asked him, "Who did you think it was?"

"I didn't know, but it came back clean and without a scratch. Whoever took it out wasn't going for a joyride. I kept waiting for it to disappear again, thinking whoever stole it was going to try again, but it never happened."

"Can we take a look at the boat, Mr. Orson?"

"Sure, but I don't know what you expect to find after all this time."

He led them out to the dock. The motorboat he showed them had a newer chain than the rest, but otherwise there was nothing distinguishing about it. Any fingerprints, DNA, or trace was likely to have been washed away or broken down by rain or spray from the ocean waves.

"Did you find anything in the boat that morning?" Natalia asked, hoping this wasn't a complete dead end. "Anything at all the thief might have left?"

"I don't think so. I did find a piece of chewed gum folded up in a scrap of notebook paper when I cleaned it out a few days later, but that could have already been there."

"Do you remember the brand?" Eric asked, not sounding hopeful.

"No, but that trash hasn't been thrown out all month, so it will still be there, if you think it will help."

A few minutes later, Natalia and Eric were looking into a large garbage bin next to the marina's parking lot.

"I wish I knew I'd be dumpster diving when I picked out my outfit this morning," Natalia said as she pulled on gloves.

"Yeah," Eric agreed.

"If someone did kill these two guys, he's really smart. After going through so much work to hide the murder, I don't think he'd be careless enough to leave his DNA in a piece of gum."

"Everyone messes up sometime," Eric said. "Let's just hope we get lucky."

"No kidding."

They carefully removed every item of garbage and laid it out on a tarp, organized from top to bottom.

"It's going to take forever to find the gum," Natalia said when about half of the contents of the garbage were laid out.

"It could have fallen into something bigger. We'll find it, we just have to keep looking."

They kept meticulously sorting the various items of refuse, including food wrappers, bottles, tissues, a pair of broken shoes, half-eaten food, and various items they didn't care to identify.

"People really need to learn to recycle," Natalia commented, laying out yet another sticky soda can.

They were nearing the bottom of the garbage bin. Eric pulled out a lidded coffee cup, then paused to examine it.

"What is it?" Natalia inquired curiously.

"I don't know. Probably nothing." The cup felt heavier than it should have been, but didn't move like it had liquid in it. He popped the lid off. There was something bright blue shoved inside. Quickly tossing out his gloves and changing into new ones to avoid contamination of the possible evidence, Eric tugged the item out. It was a pair of disposable shoe covers, the kind worn in hospitals and labs.

"Could that be from the killer?"

"I don't know," Eric replied. "But someone was careful about hiding them."

"Suspiciously careful."

He nodded. "The killer could have put them on right before getting into the boat to avoid leaving shoe prints." He examined the inside, hoping there was trace from the shoe in them. "There's some kind of white powder here. Could you grab the Marquis reagent from my kit?"

"Sure." She opened his kit and found the requested presumptive test.

"Thanks."

He added a few specks of the white powder to the Marquis reagent. Almost immediately the mixture changed color.

"Purple," Natalia said. "Ecstasy."

"We'll have to confirm it back at the lab, but that's what it looks like."

"Wasn't Lara a partier? Drugs could be what connects our two victims."

"At least it gives us a motive to run with," Eric replied. "Or how the killer lured the victim into the boat."

Natalia spotted what they had been looking for. "Oh, here's the gum."


	4. Impending Storm

Chapter 4: Impending Storm

L.A. Ra was quiet this early in the evening. Only a few newly arrived patrons sat at the bar. The club's decor and the costumes of the servers evinced a vaguely Ancient Egyptian theme.

"So he was here on Friday, you said?" asked the nightclub's owner, Veronica Speedwell.

"He told his coworker he was coming here Friday night," Ryan answered.

"Which means," added Calleigh, "this may be the last place he was seen alive."

"It's our busiest night, but if he were here, our security cameras would have caught him," Veronica said. She took them to a room in the back office, where a security guard watched screens showing live feed from the club's four security cameras. She sat at a computer and brought up the video files from the night in question, then set them to run at triple speed.

"You're really serious about security here, aren't you?" Ryan noted.

"I used to work places like this," Veronica replied. "I know the kinds of things that go on, and I like to know what my customers are up to. Just in case."

"Can you slow this down?" Calleigh asked, leaning forward to get a closer look at the screen.

Veronica complied, slowing the four synchronous images to regular speed.

"This is him," Ryan announced, pointing to Freeman Lara as he moved across the field of view of the camera covering the bar area. He sat down next to a tall redhead. They exchanged some words, then she stood and walked away.

"Looks like he struck out hard," Ryan said.

Lara then ordered a drink, which he nursed for a few minutes before heading to the dance floor. Twenty minutes later, he was back at the bar. He started talking to a pretty Latina. He ordered her a drink. They flirted for a few minutes and left the club together.

"Can we go back and follow this woman?" Calleigh suggested.

"Sure." Veronica set the footage on rewind. The woman in question had arrived at the bar about an hour before meeting Lara. She started out with water, but let two men buy her drinks before Lara.

"Looks like she never used her credit card. Any way we can find out who this woman is?" Ryan asked.

"She had to show her ID to get in. I'll talk to my bouncer and see if he happens to remember her," Veronica said. "I'd be happy to burn this onto a disk for you."

"Thank you," said Calleigh. "We'd appreciate that."

* * *

"This is definitely 3,4-methylenedioxymethamphetamin e, much more commonly known as ecstasy," Michael Travers confirmed in the trace lab.

"Anything that can help us track down where it came from?" Natalia asked.

"Well, it's cut with caffeine, confectioners sugar, and some other compounds I haven't had time to identify."

"If the contaminants are distinctive enough," said Eric, "we might be able to track down the manufacturer."

"Assuming it's a recipe Narcotics has come across before," Natalia reminded him. "Anyway, the DNA analysis on that chewing gum isn't going to be in until tomorrow. I'm going to call it a night."

Eric glanced at his watch and realized how late it was getting. "Yeah, me too. Thanks Travers."

The sun had already set and the evening winds were blowing scattered clouds across the Miami sky when Eric left the lab. He flipped open his phone and found a text message from Calleigh asking him to meet her at Midori Chou, a sushi bar they frequented. It was a small, clean, minimalist place that was never crowded. She was sitting at their favorite table when he arrived a few minutes later. He kissed her warmly before taking the seat across the table from her.

"I barely saw you all day," she said, taking his hand. "I missed you."

He smiled, loving the thought of being missed by her. "I know. We were both so busy with the Lara case."

"Yeah. Did you and Natalia find anything?" They had long since given up trying to keep work out of their dinner conversations.

"Gum that might have the killer's DNA, and a shoe cover the killer might have worn."

"So you think John Doe was murdered?" she asked curiously.

"I don't know." He shook his head. "This case makes so little sense. If he was murdered, I think the killer somehow got him on the boat and took him out to the open water, maybe willingly, and then left him to drown."

"Risky. If John Doe had made it to shore, the killer wouldn't have gotten away with it."

"Which is especially weird considering how much work the killer went to to avoid leaving evidence. Stealing a boat in the middle of the night, wearing shoe covers, wearing gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints at Lara's apartment..."

"It's scary," Calleigh opined.

"Did you and Wolfe have any luck?"

"We know Lara left a club with a woman the night he disappeared."

"A woman? That explains why there's no evidence: the killer cleans up after herself."

"Oh, now you're just teasing me."

"Only because you love it."

She smiled. "Yeah." They gazed at each other.

Eric reluctantly broke their moment. "Working this case is going to be tough with Stetler hanging around."

"Right. That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," she said carefully, knowing he wasn't going to like what she was about to suggest any more than she did. "With him in the lab, I was thinking maybe we should...back off until he gets done with his investigation."

Eric looked hurt, which pained her. But she thought this would be the safest course. "Sweetheart, if he finds out about us, one of us might get reassigned. And I miss being with you so much just on days when we don't work together, I don't think I'm ready to face that."

"And the longer we can work together without a problem, the better our case will be to keep working together when people find out." They'd discussed this issue many times. He understood her reasoning, but it wasn't much comfort.

"Right," she said. "Think of it this way: we're getting the trial separation stage of our relationship out of the way early."

He smiled at her joke, but said, "I'd rather not think of it that way. But you're right. With Stet sniffing around for any dirt on the lab, we have to be careful." He looked down at the table, where their hands rested, fingers lazily intertwined. "I guess we're not off to a great start."

"I doubt Stet will happen to run into us here. We can start after dinner."

After dinner, Eric walked Calleigh to her car. She turned to him. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he said.

She made no move to open her door, and he showed no sign of walking away. Several seconds passed in complete stillness. Then Calleigh laughed at their awkwardness and put her arms around his neck. "Goodnight," she said again, and kissed him.

His hands went to her waist, and he pulled her against him. Their lips remained in place for long moments longer, then they drew apart without leaving each other's arms.

"This is going to be a long investigation," Eric complained.

Calleigh smiled. "It'll be worth the wait. I promise."

"Stop. You're not making this easier." He kissed her again, lingering. Then he drew away. "Goodnight," he said, and this time meant it.

"Goodnight," she agreed, and finally got into her car, waving to him as she drove away.

* * *

The next morning came with dark clouds and rumbling thunder.

Ryan arrived at the lab early, eager to get to work on the Lara case. But when he got to the office where his files on the investigation were stored, he found the door opened. He entered to see a stranger reading through his notes.

"Hey! You're not supposed to be in here."

The man turned. He was average height with short black hair, a business suit, and a cold, impassive set to his features. Ryan immediately guessed he was a Fed. "I don't think so, Mr. Wolfe; I think I'm in exactly the right place."

"Can I ask who you are?"

He went back to perusing the file. "You have as much right to ask as I have not to answer."

Stetler walked up behind them. "Wolfe, this is FBI Special Agent Hadrian King. He's authorized to be here."

"FBI? See, this would have been a lot easier if you'd just said that to start with," Ryan told King.

The FBI agent glanced up from his reading, stared at Ryan as though evaluating him. "In my experience, the easy way often proves to be the wrong way." He handed Ryan the file and walked out without another word. Stetler followed him.


	5. Issues

Chapter 5: Issues

The room had been silent for several long seconds. Horatio stood at his desk, Stetler occupied a corner. They both looked uncomfortable. Only Agent King, standing at the window and watching people pass in the hallway outside, seemed perfectly composed.

"My point is, I don't appreciate having outside influences disrupting my team when we're on an investigation," Horatio stated.

"I know; I've heard about your lab's track record with authority," King replied. "I assure you that neither Mr. Stetler nor I will unduly hinder your lab's normal operation. But you may want to inform your people that the more cooperative they are, the smoother this will go."

"Agent King, my people will cooperate fully as long as cooperating doesn't interfere with the case."

"Then there shouldn't be a problem," King replied flatly. He turned around. "Just make sure your understanding of cooperation coincides with ours. From your history, it seems that may be a difficult concept for you."

Horatio glanced down. "You know, Mr. King," he said evenly, "cooperation is a two-way street, and so far you haven't seemed very keen on walking it."

"It sounds like you've spoken to CSI Wolfe. Your team seems to have superb lines of communication. Sometimes that's not a good thing."

Stetler frowned at the FBI agent. King didn't seem to notice.

"I think," Horatio said slowly, "it's time for you to start not hindering my lab's normal operation. I have work to do." He sat at his desk and began reading through a report.

Showing no sign of either disapproval or amusement, King turned toward the door. "We will speak again soon, Lieutenant Caine," he said.

* * *

Natalia sighed at the computer printout. She double-checked it as she walked out of the DNA lab and almost collided with Horatio.

"Sorry," she said.

"No worries. What do you have?"

"Some bad news on the chewing gum: the DNA in the saliva was too degraded to sequence. Eric's trying to get fingerprints off the paper it's wrapped in, but this looks like a dead end."

"We may have something to go on once the analysis on the ecstasy is complete."

"Is it true," Natalia asked, "that the FBI is getting involved with the IAB investigation?"

Horatio nodded. "That's correct. A Special Agent Hadrian King."

Natalia frowned slightly. "Hadrian King?"

"You know him?"

"No, but I've heard of him. He's supposed to be...good, but doesn't work well with others. People don't really trust him, but no one can explain why."

"It's because he's overly concerned with concealing what he's thinking," Horatio speculated. "Rick seems to be just as unhappy with his involvement as we are."

"That's a plus, at least."

* * *

"We've been keeping a close eye on Horatio Caine and his team for several years," Stetler said as he brought up some files on his office computer. "He's crossed the line on more than one occasion, but nothing's ever stuck, and he's somehow managed to keep his position."

"I know," King responded. "Lieutenant Caine has been involved in a significantly higher than average number of officer-related shootings. His brother Raymond worked undercover in Narcotics, where he was reportedly murdered under questionable circumstances. Caine used the lab to run a DNA test on a girl he suspected of being his late brother's child. After his wife was executed by the Mala Noche cartel, he went to Brazil, and the man who ordered the hit ended up dead. When his son, while in jail on kidnapping charges, was implicated in a murder, Caine coerced a prominent drug kingpin into recanting his testimony. Caine routinely cuts deals with criminals, intimidates suspects with threats of violence or even death, and manipulates evidence to protect his family and employees. His position has so far been protected by his high solve rate and the loyalty of his team. They are as devoted to him as he is to them, they are extremely insular, distrustful of outsiders, and antagonistic toward authority."

Stetler stared at him.

King looked back at him evenly. "Miami is a major entry point for drugs, weapons, and human smuggling. The crime lab is the first line of defense. If there is corruption within it, the potential for damage is high. We watch it very carefully. Tell me about the rest of Caine's team. It is my understanding that most of them have had...incidences."

"Well, for starters," Stetler began, "the DNA analyst, Maxine Valera. Four years ago she compromised a case by matching a DNA sample from a murder to a rape victim whose DNA was accidentally put in the system. As a result, Valera was suspended and her job performance was reviewed."

"But clearly she was reinstated. Until now, has she had any other problems?"

"She was a suspect in a murder, but she was cleared."

"That's right. Nick Townsend, the ex-husband of another of Caine's CSIs, Natalia Boa Vista. She was also a suspect in that murder, wasn't she?"

"Yes. Her ex had been abusive, and she had a restraining order against him, but evidence put her at his house around the time of the murder. They were both cleared; the real killer was caught."

"I understand her sister was abducted by a serial killer."

Stetler wasn't sure why King would bring that up. "Yes. But her sister survived."

"Has Boa Vista had any other incidences?"

"She was assigned to the lab to report on its activity to the FBI."

"I know; I've read her reports. Did that cause much conflict when the other CSIs found out?"

"Yes, but as far as I can tell she's just as loyal to the team as the rest of them."

"Is it true she had a romantic relationship with one of her coworkers?"

Stetler nodded. "Eric Delko. He's had a number of what you're calling 'incidences'."

"Tell me more about him."

Stetler brought up his file. "His early years were marked by procedural violations and poor punctuality. I don't even know where to get started with him. He was accused of buying marijuana from a drug dealer and tested positive for THC, but his boss managed to get him out of it. He was accused of police brutality. On one occasion he lost his badge while having sex with a woman whose name he didn't even know. His wages are being garnished as settlement for beating a man at a bar while off-duty. He narrowly avoided being deported to Cuba when it came to light that his birth certificate was forged. He came back to work within weeks of sustaining a gunshot to the head, and there have been suggestions that it's impaired his ability to do his job. I know from personal experience that he's disrespectful and volatile. Even with Horatio defending him, it's beyond me how he's managed to keep his job."

King examined the file over Stetler's shoulder. "You left out his involvement with the death of Antonio Riaz in Brazil after the murder of his sister."

"How much of this do you already know?" Stetler asked suspiciously.

"I know that things are never as simple as they appear in official reports. Let's move on to Ryan Wolfe. I understand he has contacts in the press?"

"He briefly worked as a crime correspondent for the local news after being fired from the lab for illegal gambling. It's also rumored that he's the one who leaked information to the press about a possible bomb plot that caused a city-wide panic."

King nodded to himself. "What do you have on Calleigh Duquesne?"

Stetler reluctantly pulled up her file. "She has the cleanest background of anyone in Horatio Caine's inner circle. No hint of illegal activity, a number of commendations, years of distinguished service. Her only fault is being loyal to people who don't deserve it."

"What was her relationship to Detective John Hagen?"

It took him a moment to respond. "They dated briefly, but she didn't have anything to do with what he did."

"How did his death affect her?"

"She stopped working in firearms for a while, but she went back. She's unquestionably the foremost expert on forensic analysis of firearms in south Florida."

King didn't look impressed. "And she's had no breaches of protocol, no problems with coworkers, no errors in her professional judgment?"

"She...had an inappropriate relationship with another coworker after Hagen: Detective Jake Berkeley. But they ended it. It's possible that she has used questionable means to protect her friends and family."

"I understand there was an incident with one of her former coworkers, computer analyst Dan Cooper."

"He was fired after coming under suspicion of credit card fraud, which she uncovered. He retaliated by creating a website about her. It almost got her killed."

"That website was used to discredit evidence processed by her in a later case," the FBI agent noted.

"A video clip posted on the website revealed she consults notes on forensic procedure. Hardly a crime, but a sleaze of a defense attorney used it to challenge her competence."

"Do you have that footage on file?"

Stetler opened the requested document. King watched the clip impassively.

"The notes aren't hers," he stated.

"What?"

"Look at her facial expression. She's never seen this before. She's surprised, but she's not curious. She knows who it belongs to. She's concerned."

"She told me the notes were hers," Stetler claimed, looking over the video again. He wondered how someone as expressionless as Agent King could be so adept at reading faces. "But like I said, she has a bad habit of protecting people."

"Did anyone quit around the time of this incident?"

"Not that I know of. No."

King kept his eyes on the computer screen. "Interesting."

* * *

Calleigh entered the AV lab, where she found Ryan and the computer tech. "We get anything on the security cameras from the nightclub?"

"Yeah. We have our mystery woman entering the club. Her driver's license faces the camera when she takes it out to show the bouncer. We're trying to enhance the image enough to get a name," Ryan answered.

"Great. If she wasn't our killer, she was probably the last person to see Lara alive."

"Exactly. Right now we're going through frame by frame trying to find the best angle, but it's still going to take a lot of processing before we get anything."

Calleigh looked at the image. The woman was about average height and stout, with thick shoulder-length hair. "If we can't pull her name, we should get her face out to the media, say she's wanted for questioning in a murder investigation."

"IAB has requested that nothing about this case be made public until they clear it."

They all turned in surprise at Horatio's voice.

"They probably still don't want to play this as a murder investigation so they can say the lab messed up," Ryan complained.

"How do they expect us to solve this case with our hands tied?" Calleigh lamented.

Ryan scoffed. "I don't think they're too concerned with whether we actually _solve_ the case..."

"We'll solve it," Horatio said, "by doing what we always do: outsmarting the killer."


	6. Possible Leads

Chapter 6: Possible Leads

"You found something?" Horatio asked Dr. Price.

John Doe was lying on her examination table. "Eric asked me to take a second look at the body for signs of possible drug use. I didn't find any, but I did find something else."

"What?"

"He had a bloody nose less than twenty-four hours before time of death."

"That could be where the blood in Lara's hair came from. But it still doesn't tell us how it got there, does it."

"No it doesn't. But I noticed something else, too. Both vics had their fingernails cut short. Normally, finding this in an autopsy wouldn't mean much more than that the guy had good hygiene, but if their deaths were connected..."

"It could indicate a killer covering up signs of a struggle," Horatio finished.

Dr. Price nodded solemnly.

"Let me know if you find anything else."

He met Eric outside the print lab. "Nothing on the paper from the gum we found. It looks too old to be related to our case, anyway. Another dead end."

"Maybe. But we could have something else. Dr. Price found that both victims had their fingernails cut short."

"If they were killed by the same person, I don't think they were his first. Clipping the nails isn't something a first-timer would probably think of."

"I agree. Why don't you look at the victims' nails and see if they were cut by the same tool."

Horatio looked at something down the hall. Eric followed his eyes to where the FBI agent was walking down the corridor, heading toward them.

"How worried should we be about him?" Eric asked quietly.

"I'm not sure yet," Horatio replied. More loudly, he added, "Find me when you have those results."

"Right."

Eric left and Horatio waited for Agent King. "Can I help you?"

"It seems you have new developments in the cases of Freeman Lara and John Doe."

"What we have," he said, "is evidence supporting the DNA finding that their deaths are connected."

"What sort of evidence?"

"Both men had freshly clipped fingernails."

"That could easily be a coincidence. Was there any other evidence of a struggle or restraints? These were both young, physically fit men."

The agent seemed to know a lot about the case, Horatio noted. "Not that we've found."

"Any indication that they were chemically incapacitated? Needle marks? Unusual tox screen results?"

"Nothing on John Doe. The tox screen on Lara isn't finished yet. I assure you, if there's any evidence to find, my team will find it."

King acted like he didn't notice the tone of irritation in Horatio's voice. "I understand a number of liquor bottles have been found in Lara's apartment. Have they been printed?"

"Yes. All the prints came back to Lara."

"Isn't that unusual? Shouldn't there have been some prints from anyone who handled those bottles before Lara purchased them?"

Horatio wondered what the FBI agent was getting at. Did he think the fingerprint evidence indicated the bottles hadn't been thoroughly processed, or was he implying the results seemed suspicious?

Before he could ask, King continued. "Were the rims of the bottles swabbed for DNA?"

"We have not had time to complete processing on the bottles. This lab does not have the resources you may be used to at the FBI, and we do have other cases to solve."

"It doesn't matter," King stated, half to himself. "The saliva will come back to the victim, if there is any."

"Agent King, you sound like you believe this may be a homicide."

"I don't jump to conclusions. If Lara committed suicide, there's no reason the saliva would be anyone else's. If he were murdered, the killer is obviously too intelligent to do something as careless as leaving his prints or DNA on the bottles he planted. Anti-depressants were found in Lara's apartment, prescribed by Dr. Alex Cham. Has he been questioned?"

"Not yet."

"Lara's psychiatrist might know if he had any enemies," King said.

It was a good point. Horatio didn't like other people prying into his investigation, but he was beginning to wonder about Agent King. "We'll get that taken care of."

"Who are you going to send to interview the psychiatrist?" His tone was quick and insistent.

Horatio decided to answer, though it was out of curiosity about why the FBI agent asked rather than deference to Federal authority. "I'll have Eric go as soon as he finishes the microscopic inspection of the victims' fingernails."

"I don't think this potential lead should be handled by Eric Delko."

"You," Horatio countered, "have no say over how I deploy my team. I believe Eric will be the best choice for this interview."

"Because he has a long history of dealing with psychiatrists as a client," King stated more than asked. "That is precisely why I think he _shouldn't _be given this assignment. His attitude toward the potential witness may be influenced by his past experiences. If you have no objections, I believe Calleigh Duquesne should handle this one. There was an anonymous tip on a possible identity for John Doe from a Hispanic community center in Fort Lauderdale. Delko can follow up with that."

"Okay, first, Fort Lauderdale is outside our jurisdiction. Second, Calleigh is just as fluent in Spanish as Delko. Third, this is not your case."

The merest hint of some emotion alighted on King's face, and then was gone before it could be identified. "I think it would be best if you don't regard me as an oppositional force to your investigation. And don't worry about jurisdiction." He left without another word.

Horatio watched him walk away. Something about the FBI agent's behavior wasn't adding up. He decided to follow his recommendation to have Calleigh question the psychiatrist. For one thing, she and Ryan were the ones pursuing the Lara case, while Eric and Natalia were more familiar with the details of the John Doe case—scanty though they were. For another thing, King had a point.

* * *

"We were able to figure out the number on the driver's license in the security video, and got the woman's name and address from that," Ryan explained. "Dorotea Roberto. Want to call her in or question her at her address?"

"You choose. I'm heading out to talk to Lara's psychiatrist," Calleigh replied.

"Okay. Good luck."

"You too. We could really use a break on this case," she added.

Frank Tripp joined Ryan. They knocked at the door, and a moment later the young woman from the club's surveillance video answered. "Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested," she said.

"Cute." Frank pulled out his badge. "I'm Detective Tripp with MDPD. We need to ask you a few questions."

"About what?" she asked.

Ryan pulled out an autopsy photo. "Do you recognize this man?"

Dorotea's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widened. "Oh God. That's...that's, um, that's Freeman. I hooked up with him about a week ago. God...what happened?"

"That's what we'd like to talk to you about," Ryan answered. "Can we come in?"

She stepped aside.

"How well did you know Mr. Lara?" Frank inquired.

"I didn't even know his last name. We met at a new club called L.A. Ra, then we went to my apartment and...um...and then I drove him to his place and dropped him off. That was Friday night."

"What time did you drop him off?"

"I think it was about one in the morning. Why?"

"You may have been the last person to see him alive," Ryan said.

"Oh my God." Dorotea buried her face in her hands.

Frank spoke. "He was found dead outside his apartment. Did he seem depressed or upset when you left him?"

"No," she said, dropping her hands to her lap. Her face was pale. "He thanked me for the nice time. Kissed me goodnight." She paused, biting her lip.

"Was there something else?" Frank asked. "Something that struck you as odd?"

"There was a car parked outside his apartment building. A...an SUV, dark. Black, I think. It was blocking the entrance to the parking lot, so I just dropped him off on the sidewalk at the corner."

"Was there anyone in it?"

"I couldn't tell. The windows were tinted." She shook her head. "It had a Florida license plate, but I didn't look at the number. It also had some kind of sticker in the back window. I didn't really think much of it at the time, other than that it was inconsiderate of someone to park there. But...if someone killed Freeman right after I saw him, it could've been whoever was in that SUV. I wish I could help you more, I really do. He seemed like a nice guy."


	7. Roundabout

Chapter 7: Roundabout

Dr. Cham was younger than Calleigh anticipated. He was tall and slim, with longish black hair.

"I know doctor-patient confidentiality doesn't necessarily extend beyond death," Dr. Cham said, "but out of consideration to Mr. Lara's family and the peace of mind of my other patients, I would rather not discuss him."

"I understand, but this is a murder investigation, and something Mr. Lara confided to you may help lead us to his killer."

The psychiatrist thought for several seconds. "I doubt there's anything in his files that will help you. Freeman was in many ways very immature. He was self-involved, ambitious, and insecure. He craved other people's approval, but at the same time viewed all the people in his life with one overriding question: what could they do for _him_. That's why nothing in his files will help you find his killer: all he told me about the people he knew was how they related to him. And even that he carefully edited in an effort to elicit _my _approval. I was trying to get him to understand that he was dissatisfied with his life not because he wasn't as successful as he hoped to be, but because he didn't know how to connect with other people and even his own life on any deep level. I've only been seeing him for a couple of months."

"It would still be helpful for us to have those files."

"Then you'll still have to get a warrant," he replied. "He used our sessions as an opportunity to brag about his sexual conquests, which were, to put it bluntly, far less frequent than he wanted his friends to believe. He thought it was a point of pride to sleep with as many women as possible, and he was ashamed that he didn't, as he put it, succeed as often as he thought he deserved. That's an aspect of his life I don't think he would want his family to become aware of."

"So I take it he didn't have a long-term girlfriend?"

"No. He never had."

"Did anyone give him problems at work?"

"If they did, he didn't tell me. He only told me when people at work praised his job performance."

"Did he use drugs? Do you know if he had a dealer?"

"Not that I know of. That's not something he would have confided to me."

Calleigh left his office frustrated. They definitely didn't have enough for a warrant, and it looked like they wouldn't find much even if they did.

* * *

Horatio approached Stetler in the corridor outside the DNA lab. "Do you have a moment, Rick?"

"A moment for what?"

"I want to know," Horatio began, "how someone in Fort Lauderdale recognized John Doe when we haven't even been able to release his image to the media."

"The media silence was the FBI's idea. You'll have to take it up with Agent King," Stetler said. It almost sounded like complaining.

"Speaking of Agent King, he's been asking a lot of questions."

"What kinds of questions?" Stetler looked a little worried.

"About the case. I'm not sure he's convinced the DNA results were a mistake."

Stetler took a few seconds to respond. "Have you thought that maybe this isn't about you?"

"What would it be about?"

"Do you really think an FBI agent would be interested in a simple lab result? I'd hate to burst your bubble, but I don't think your lab is the only thing the Fed is monitoring."

"Are you implying, Rick, that Agent King is investigating you?"

"The FBI might not see why the IAB has found it necessary to watch the forensics lab so closely."

"And you're worried if the FBI doesn't see it the same way, your own position may be the one on the line."

Stetler scowled at him. "I stand by my judgment calls, Horatio. You might think I don't have any professional integrity, but frankly that's what worries me about _you._"

When he left, Horatio remained standing in the hallway, thinking. Natalia spotted him.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"It seems that Stetler suspects the FBI isn't here as part of the IAB's investigation of the lab, but to investigate the IAB."

"Do you think that could be true?"

"No. Agent King is too interested in the details of the case. No: I think something else is going on here." He left without explaining where he was going.

* * *

"Did you find anything out from the psychiatrist?" Ryan asked Calleigh.

"From what little he told me, it seems Lara didn't have any enemies, at least none he talked about. How did your interview with the woman from the club go?"

"She says when she dropped Lara off Friday night there was a black SUV blocking the entrance to the parking lot of his apartment, but she doesn't remember the license plate number."

"Another detail that may not even be connected."

"And it still doesn't answer the question of where Freeman Lara was the three days between when Dorotea Roberto saw him and the time of death."

* * *

Eric walked into the community center in a poor neighborhood of Fort Lauderdale. It was sparsely furnished and almost deserted. Posters and ads in Spanish lined the walls. He walked up to the white-haired gentleman at the counter.

"_Bienvenido,_" the man whose name tag identified as Rafael greeted in a Cuban accent.

"_Hola_," he replied. "I'm Eric Delko, from the Miami-Dade PD. I was wondering if you've ever seen this man here?" He showed a photograph of John Doe.

Rafael winced at the photograph, then nodded slowly. "It could be him."

"'Him' who?"

"Pedro Quiroga," he stated. He walked out from behind his desk and directed Eric to one of the fliers on the wall. It had a black-and-white picture of John Doe. Below it were the words "Desaparecido: Pedro Quiroga," and a brief physical description, in Spanish, and at the bottom a number to contact and a plea for any information.

"Who put this sign up?"

"I don't know," Rafael answered. "Anyone could have come in here and put it there, but it's been up for a couple of weeks. A lot of people who come here are unregistered and don't want to go to the police with their problems."

"I understand," Eric assured him. "Are you the one who called in the tip?"

He looked confused. "What tip? Someone called last night asking if a man fitting this description disappeared recently. I assumed he was one of you."

Eric turned to him. "The person who called, did they say who they were?"

"No. He spoke in good Spanish, but with an accent I've never heard before. I told him about this flier and he thanked me and hung up."

"Can I take this?" Eric asked, pulling out a glove to take the evidence from the wall.

"I don't know. Someone else might see it who knows where he is."

"That won't happen," he replied somberly. "Pedro Quiroga is in our morgue."


	8. Ghosts

Chapter 8: Ghosts

Horatio answered his cellphone after checking the caller ID. "Eric," he said, "what did you find?"

"_A missing person notice saying John Doe's real name is Pedro Quiroga,_" he answered. "_I called the contact number on it and got an answering machine of someone named Darren Teague. I left a message for him to come in to answer some questions_."

"Good. We're getting somewhere."

"_There's another thing: there was an anonymous call last night, but it didn't come from the community center, it was to it. The person I talked to said a man speaking Spanish called to ask about missing persons matching John Doe's description. If that call was from law enforcement, he should have identified himself._"

"Yes, he should have."

"_What's going on here, H_?"

"I don't know, Eric, but we're going to find out. Keep me updated." He closed his phone and looked up as a beautiful woman with a thick mane of chocolate brown curls walked up to him. He smiled. "Yelina."

"I take it from the meeting place," she joked in her richly accented, mellifluous voice as she gestured to the otherwise deserted alley in an industrial neighborhood, "that you called me on business and not pleasure."

"With you, it's always a little of both," he replied.

"So shall we start with the pleasantries, or get right down to the business?"

He chuckled, but then grew more subdued. "An FBI agent named Hadrian King. He's been looking into the lab, seemingly as part of an IAB investigation, but I'm beginning to suspect he's using that as a cover for something else. I'd like to know everything you can find out about him."

Yelina nodded. "Discreetly, I take it?"

"As discreetly as practical. We're investigating a seeming accidental drowning and an apparent suicide. The victims don't seem to have known each other, but some evidence connected their deaths. It's beginning to look like murder, and Agent King seems very interested in the cases."

"You think he could have something to do with it?"

"If they are murders, the killer or killers did a very good job of covering them up. That would be a lot easier to do for someone with some background in criminal investigation."

"I'll tell you what I dig up." She was looking at him with fondness and concern. "Be careful, Horatio."

"You too, ma'am. And thank you."

She smiled softly and echoed his frequent reassurance. "Always."

* * *

After three days of investigation into Freeman Lara's murder without even a single likely suspect to show for it, Calleigh needed to unwind. Usually after a hard day at work, she and Eric would go out to a beach or restaurant, but that would be too suspicious if the IAB was paying attention, so instead she went to the shooting range for some target practice.

There were a few other people there, mostly cops. She had on her headgear and was taking aim at her target when she noticed the FBI Agent, King, a few rows down. She'd been introduced to him only briefly, but had heard other people in the lab talking about him.

He emptied a clip in rapid succession, replaced it with a new one, and emptied it as well. His accuracy was impressive, his speed was incredible, the expression on his face as he pulled the trigger again and again was...eerie. Studiously blank, and yet bitter, unfocused. With each shot, his eyes seemed to tighten, not quite flinching, more like a glare.

King finished his last clip and turned to meet Calleigh's eyes. It was impossible to tell if he just noticed her or if he'd known she'd been watching him.

"What do you see when you pull the trigger?" she asked him.

Keeping eye contact just long enough to let her know he wasn't ignoring her, he put away his gear and left without answering.

* * *

Eric didn't mind doing some overtime that evening. He was, after all, still having his wages garnished to pay off his court settlement, and since he wouldn't be seeing Calleigh, he would rather be here at work than at his small apartment, which never had felt like home. There was no shortage of work to keep him occupied.

It was about seven o'clock when he was summoned to the lobby. There was someone there to see him.

"Darren Teague?" he asked.

A tall man with sandy blond hair stood up. "Hi. I was told to come down here?"

"Yeah. Actually, there's a body in the morgue we think you might be able to help identify."

"Is it Pedro?"

"Maybe."

"Let me see him."

After signing in and getting a visitor badge, Darren and Eric went to the morgue. Dr. Price had the unidentified victim on a table, covered.

"You ready?" she asked.

Darren Teague closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded.

Dr. Price folded the cover away to reveal the victim's face. As soon as Darren saw him, he collapsed to his knees. His shoulders shook. After a few seconds, a sob escaped his throat.

"It's Pedro Quiroga?" the ME asked.

Darren could only nod.

Eric took his arm and led him out of the room. Outside, they sat on a bench. Neither spoke for a couple of minutes as Darren wept.

"I knew," Darren finally managed to say. "I knew something must have happened to him, but seeing him, knowing for sure...it just..."

"How did you know Pedro?" Eric inquired softly.

"We met when I was in Nicaragua on business. Then...he applied for US residency, but was rejected. I helped him move here anyway because...he was afraid for his life in his home country, and we...just couldn't stand to be apart. We were sa...saving up to move to Boston."

"So you could get married, so he could apply for a green card?" Eric guessed.

He nodded again. "We were always afraid he would be caught and deported. He was scared to go back to Nicaragua. Who would have thought he'd die like this in America? You know...until the second I saw him, I couldn't stop hoping that he was somehow still alive."

"And that's why you didn't go to the police when Pedro didn't come home? Because you were afraid if they found him they'd deport him?"

"It's not fair," Darren said. "It just isn't fair."

Eric looked at him with sympathy. "No, it's not," he agreed. A moment later, he said, "I can't pretend to know what you're going through, but a while ago I came very close to losing someone I love deeply. And a few years ago I lost my sister. I know it doesn't feel like it now, but you'll get through this."

"Thank you," he said in a pained whisper.

"Is there any family we can contact?"

"No. Pedro's family disowned him years ago."

"What about you? Is there anyone we can call for you?"

He shook his head. "He's all I had."

"I'm sorry." They fell into silence for several long seconds. "I know this is hard for you, but do you know if Pedro had any enemies? Anyone who might have wanted him dead?"

Darren stared at him. "He was _murdered?_"

"There's some indication of that," he replied. "Anything you can think of might help us. Did he say anything about anyone he was having trouble with? Did he use drugs or associate with gangs?"

"No, nothing like that. Everyone who knows him...loved Pedro. He's the...was the...best human being I've ever known. I can't imagine anyone wanting to kill him."

Eric wasn't surprised by the answer. When you love someone, you assume everyone else loves them too, that everyone sees the same thing in them you do. "Can you give us the names of his friends or coworkers? It might help us figure out what happened to him."

"Yeah. He worked at an orange orchard in Fort Lauderdale. The night he didn't come home, I called to see if he was there, and they said he'd left at the end of his shift. The next day I started checking hospitals, then I put up the fliers when I didn't know what else to do. I should have called the police. I just..." his tears returned, "didn't know what to do."

"There wasn't anything you could have done to change what happened to him."

Darren looked at him, gratitude mingling with his despair. "Please find who did this to Pedro. Please tell me they won't get away with this."

"I promise."


	9. Ethereal

Chapter 9: Ethereal

"The ecstasy also contained trace amounts of calcium, titanium dioxide, and lespedamin, low enough that their inclusion was in all likelihood incidental, and a small quantity of diethyl ether," Travers told Natalia and Eric, handing them copies of the complete chemical analysis.

"Why would someone put ether in ecstasy?" Natalia asked. "Would that work to knock someone out?"

"Not at such low doses. More likely it was in an attempt to enhance the effects of the ecstasy."

"But if the killer is the same person who manufactured the ecstasy," Eric said, "that means he has access to ether, which could be what he used to disable the victims. I'll let H know what we found."

"I'll check to see if there are any known dealers using this recipe," said Natalia.

Eric found Horatio in his office.

"You're in early this morning, Eric," he noted.

"Couldn't sleep. I was thinking about how Pedro Quiroga died."

"I can see how drowning in scuba gear could get to you."

"That's not what bothered me. I kept wondering how the killer got him on the boat. There are a lot of drugs that are hard to identify in a tox report after they metabolize. The killer could have drugged him, dumped him in the middle of the ocean in scuba gear, and by the time the oxygen ran out and he drowned, the drug could already be undetectable. The traces of ecstasy we found contained ether, which could be what the killer used. And with Freeman Lara, the killer could have used it to knock him out, then kept him incapacitated with alcohol. His blood alcohol level was so high when he went out the window that he probably couldn't have put up much of a fight."

"We'll have tox take a second look," Horatio said. "Good work."

Eric didn't leave yet. "H, it looks like Lara and Quiroga didn't have anything in common, except what they looked like. They were killed weeks apart. If the same person murdered both of them..."

Horatio nodded. "And what kind of murderer picks victims based on appearance and convenience?"

"A serial killer."

"Which means," he agreed, "that if we don't solve this case soon, we may have more bodies on our hands."

"So what should we do?"

"For now, follow the evidence. It appears likely that the killer manufactures ecstasy. As you know, the chemical precursor to MDMA—safrole—is a regulated substance."

"Which means the killer could be on a watchlist of safrole buyers."

"It's a place to start."

* * *

"I've got nothing," Ryan announced. "Three security cameras within a block of Lara's apartment building, and no sign of a black SUV around the time he was last seen. I've got a couple of dark SUVs going by earlier that night, but none of the cameras have an angle on the parking lot, and you can't see the drivers."

"I'm not having any more luck tracing the liquor bottles in Lara's apartment. The ones I've been able to track down were all bought in cash, purchased at different times stretching back weeks before he disappeared, different places around the city. There's no way to pinpoint a buyer."

"Where does that leave us?"

"With what we started with: the evidence. The killer had to leave something behind on Lara's body, right? We'll just look until we find it."

Ryan could only wish he had her optimism. The truth was, some murders went unsolved. This might be one of them.

* * *

After hours of scrutinizing every trace from Freeman Lara's body, clothes, and apartment, Calleigh was feeling a little less optimistic. The only thing that was even possibly probative was a single metal shaving found on his shirt, but she had no idea yet what it could be from.

Her cellphone buzzed. Detective Tripp was calling her. "Hey," she answered.

"_Hey Calleigh. You busy?"_

"Not really. I've been looking for trace all day, but if there was anything here to find, I should have found it by now. Why? What's up?"

"_A buddy of mine in Narcotics knows a dealer who's sold ecstasy matching the stuff Natalia and Delko found. I was just about to head over to question him, wondered if you wanted to come along."_

"Sure, but wouldn't it be better to take Natalia or Eric?"

"_I called both of them, but they're busy questioning safrole buyers. That's a definite waste of time if you ask me. People buying ingredients to make illegal drugs are probably gonna do it on the black market. Anyway, this drug dealer, Mark Millard, works out of a warehouse in Opa-Locka." _He gave her the address, which she jotted down.

"I'll meet you there," she said.

Calleigh arrived at the condemned warehouse before Tripp did and waited in the Hummer.

Though only late afternoon, the thick layer of low, brooding clouds made it seem much later. It was raining steadily. Occasional thunder reverberated through the gloom.

Then there was another sound, sharper than thunder. A gunshot; she would know it anywhere.

She called for back-up as she hopped out of the vehicle, drew her gun, and entered through the broken front door. Moving quietly, and staying near the wall, she made her way into the building.

In a room unevenly illuminated by a portable lamp sitting on a card table, a man she could only assume was Mark Millard was lying on the floor, blood pooled around his head. There was a gun on a table, next to a bag of ecstasy pills.

Calleigh cautiously stepped into the room. When she saw movement in a dark recess, her gun instantly came up. "Freeze! MDPD!"

"FBI!" Hadrian King announced at the same instant. He'd raised his gun the moment he saw her move toward the table.

"Put down the gun," Calleigh commanded.

The FBI agent dispassionately complied, but he didn't holster his weapon.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her gun still pointed at him.

"The same thing you're doing here, Duquesne: investigating."

"Did you shoot him?"

"Of course not," he replied. "Do you see a speck of blood me? Judging by the void on the table, whoever killed Mr. Millard must be covered in it."

Calleigh glanced over quickly. There was indeed a void in the blood splatter pattern on the table.

"The shooter was between the victim and the table, shot him in the head, facing him. It was someone he knew," King speculated, unfazed by the gun still pointed at him.

"Where were you when it happened? Did you see who did it?"

"I was outside the building. I entered when I heard the gunshot. The killer could still be here."

A chill ran up her spine at those words. What were the chances Agent King just happened to show up when she did, just as a possible suspect or witness got murdered? "How did you know about Millard?"

"You should be able to figure that out, Duquesne. I had a sample of the powdered ecstasy sent to the FBI lab for analysis. We have access to the same Narcotics records you do, and more."

She heard sirens blaring, coming closer. Back-up was on the way.

"When they get here," King inquired, "do you want them to find you holding an FBI agent at gunpoint, or do you want them to find us searching the warehouse for the killer?"

Calleigh lowered her gun, but didn't let her guard down. "You're right. Let's find the shooter."

* * *

Horatio arrived at the warehouse half an hour later. Calleigh had already begun processing the scene. The body was still on the floor, waiting for Dr. Price to arrive.

"What do we have?"

"What's left of his face matches the mugshots of Mark Millard, the drug dealer," Calleigh said. "There weren't any fingerprints on the gun; it was wiped clean. I'll need the bullet to confirm, but I'd be surprised if this gun isn't the murder weapon."

He nodded in agreement. "Someone killed him, left the gun, and left the E. This doesn't look drug-related, does it."

"No, but neither of the other victims was shot. One staged drowning accident, one staged suicide, and one gunshot to the head? The MO doesn't line up."

"But that doesn't mean it isn't related," Horatio noted. "I heard Agent King called for back-up the same time you did. Where is he?"

Calleigh replied unhappily, "He said there was something he needed to look into. He left a few minutes after back-up arrived." She paused. The thing that bothered her most about her encounter with the FBI agent was that he lowered his gun when she told him to. If he had just arrived, he should have been just as suspicious that she shot Millard as she was of him. Lowering the gun seemed like an unprofessional, dangerous move. If she were in his position, there was no way she would have left herself vulnerable like that. And it unnerved her that she couldn't figure out why he'd done it. "He was here when I arrived, Horatio. There was no sign of the shooter, and neither of us saw anyone leave. And then Agent King just leaves like that?"

"He doesn't seem overly concerned with following protocol, does he."

"You know I usually don't think much of Feds. I think they're too by-the-book a lot of the time, they don't consider how things are in the real world, and sometimes I wonder if they even know what they're doing. But I especially don't like this one, for the opposite reasons. He knows his stuff, and I think he knows exactly what he's doing."

Horatio's cellphone rang. "I agree," he said, checking the caller ID. "We just have to figure out what that is. Yelina, what have you found?"

"_Something you'll find interesting,"_ her voice answered from the phone. "_But I think we should discuss it in private." _


	10. Vespers

Chapter 10: Vespers

The warm yellow light pouring from the windows of the house looked cozy and inviting through the heavy gray evening rain. Yelina opened the door just as Horatio reached it. "Come in," she said.

There were two cups of hot tea on the coffee table. "Thank you," he said as she handed one to him. "You have some information?"

"To start with, Hadrian King is not the killer. He was in D.C. during the time of both murders, and only got here a few days ago, right after Internal Affairs started investigating."

"You've been doing your homework on this case," Horatio noted with approval.

"I still have friends in the police department."

"What else did you find out about him?"

"Not much. What I could piece together I got from calling in some favors, not all of it was necessarily strictly legal. He's worked out of FBI offices in D.C., New Jersey, and Puerto Rico. He's originally from California, joined the Army right out of high school. In 2002 he went to Chile. There's no record of him after that until May of 2004, when he arrived at Washington Dulles International on a plane from Madrid."

"Chile and Spain. So Agent King may know Spanish."

"Seems likely. Is that significant?"

"It may be. Any idea what he was doing those two years?"

"I can tell you his trip from Madrid to D.C. looks like it may have been paid for by the State Department. He went to work for the FBI three months later."

"That's a telling coincidence. Did you find out why he came to Miami?"

"I can tell you that, while he was working in New Jersey, the FBI began investigating a series of seemingly accidental deaths of young Hispanic men in the area. The deaths were flagged as a possible serial killer, but the cases were never solved. King transferred to Puerto Rico shortly after similar deaths began occurring there. After they stopped he went to D.C."

"So that's why he's here now; he's following a serial killer."

"That's my guess. But why do you think he didn't tell you?"

"That is a good question."

As soon as Horatio left Yelina's house, his cellphone buzzed with a text message.

_I assume you have some questions, _the text read.

Horatio didn't recognize the number, but could guess it was from King. That meant the FBI agent was keeping track of him, which didn't surprise him. He replied with an address and a time.

* * *

Alexx Woods was clearing the table after a family dinner when she heard her doorbell.

"I'll get it," her husband called from the living room.

A minute later, an unexpected but welcome face appeared.

"Hope I'm not coming at a bad time."

"It's never a bad time to see you, Eric," Alexx assured him, giving him a quick hug. "How have you been doing? How's Calleigh?"

Eric smiled. He'd always liked Alexx, just like everyone else in the lab, but when their former M.E. saved Calleigh's life, his affection for her had grown. "We're doing great," he said, not sure whether she'd guessed they were together.

"I'd love to have the two of you over for dinner sometime."

"We'd like that," Eric replied before holding up the folder in his hand. "But I'm not here to catch up tonight. We're working on a case, and there was something I wanted to run by you."

"Sure. Come on into the living room and have a seat."

Eric took out autopsy photos of the two victims. "About a month ago, Pedro Quiroga drowned in scuba gear. Last week, another man, Freeman Lara, died in a fall from his apartment window, apparent suicide."

"And you want a second opinion?" she asked, taking both photos.

"Not quite," Eric smiled. "Dr. Price isn't you, but she's good. I trust her on the COD. The thing is, it's starting to look like their deaths are connected."

"They look like they could be brothers," Alexx remarked.

"They're not. As far as we can tell, there's nothing connecting the victims at all. The first victim isn't even from Miami; he lived in Fort Lauderdale. H and I are starting to think this could be the work of a serial killer."

Alexx looked at him, waiting to hear why he'd brought this to her.

"These deaths looked like an accident and a suicide, so if they were murdered, the killer knew how to cover his tracks. I was wondering if you can remember seeing any other cases like this: young Hispanic men whose deaths didn't look like murder."

"Honey, I've seen too many of those cases." She examined the photos again, pensively. "But come to think of it, there are a few this reminds me of. I'll have to go digging, but there was a poor boy shot in the head—this was years ago. It was ruled a suicide, but he did have a resemblance to these two. I don't remember the details, but there was something about the case that made Frank Tripp upset. Rosendo," she said abruptly. "That was the young man's name. Rosendo Gutierez."

"I'll look up the case. Thank you, Alexx."

"Any time."

After leaving Alexx's house, Eric went straight back to the lab. He had a feeling he wouldn't be getting much sleep.

* * *

The small Catholic church was empty this time of night. Hadrian King's footsteps echoed on the floor as he walked through it, coming to a stop in front of the altar.

"I'm not going to pretend I don't suspect why you asked to meet me here," he said without looking around.

Horatio stepped out of the shadowy recess where he'd been waiting. "You seem to have a need for secrecy, and I've always found churches a good place for confessions."

King finally turned to him. "Confessions won't be necessary, but explanations are in order. I know you've had your sister-in-law look into my background. What you may not know is that I've been looking into yours. I know about your father."

"That doesn't really matter now," Horatio said.

"It does, though for reasons you might not expect." He turned toward the altar again, and continued quietly. "By now you've figured out Lara and Quiroga are the latest victims of a serial killer."

Horatio, stepping up beside him, nodded. "You've been tracking this serial killer for years, in New Jersey and in Puerto Rico. What I don't know is why you didn't inform my team of this as soon as you realized it was the same killer."

"With this killer, it's hard to know for sure that these deaths are even related. He's extremely careful, and extremely smart. It was a statistician compiling data on household accidents in the Tri-State region who began to suspect there _was _a serial killer, from a statistically improbable number of young men who died in accidents after being missing for a few days. This killer chooses victims from low socio-economic demographics: illegal immigrants, day-laborers, unemployed. All of them have been single, divorced, or separated. At all of the crime scenes, there has been little or no forensic evidence of another person present. Of the cases in the Tri-State area, our analysts have determined eight deaths almost certainly caused by this killer, and thirteen more possibles. They started in 2003. The pattern wasn't noticed until 2006. The FBI released a statement asking for information about the killer, whom a newspaper in Newark began calling the Misadventure Killer after an FBI spokesperson said many of the murders had been classified 'death by misadventure.' As soon as the papers broke the story, the killings stopped."

"Until they started again in Puerto Rico."

King nodded. "We alerted FBI offices around the country to be on the lookout for the pattern. When San Juan reported an increase in the number of young men found dead days after being reported missing, I went there to head the investigation. This time, we tried to keep it out of the papers, but one police officer leaked the story, and the killing stopped again. We believe there were five victims in Puerto Rico."

"And now two in Miami."

"You see why I chose not to inform your lab," he said. "I had to make sure I could trust you. It's imperative that we keep this investigation out of the media. If the Misadventure Killer thinks we're onto him, he'll disappear again. The only chance we have of catching him is making sure he doesn't know we're getting close."

"You're the one who called the community center in Fort Lauderdale."

King confirmed what he'd suspected. "We learned in New Jersey that this killer will travel across county and state lines to hunt for victims. I called various Spanish-affiliated community organizations in the area around Miami until I found a match for John Doe."

"And you insisted that Eric follow up on it while sending Calleigh on what you already knew would be a dead end because..."

"Looking into your team's background led me to believe that CSI Delko, like you, is good at keeping things to himself."

"No one on my team would allow information that could compromise a case to get out."

"That's not what I heard."

"Well, you can't believe everything you hear."

"I don't." King glanced at him. "That's why I checked for myself."

Horatio nodded. "Fair enough. But now that you trust me, how much do we know about the Misadventure Killer?"

"No eyewitnesses have come forward, so we don't know what he looks like. Because most of the victims have been Spanish-speaking, and most serial killers target victims of their own race, our profilers have determined the killer is likely Hispanic. He's intelligent and possibly well-educated, but not wealthy. Miami's large Hispanic population makes it a perfect place for the killer to blend in. There have been no signs of rape or torture, but the murders likely have some sexual component. The killer varies the mode of death too much for the murder itself to be the primary release."

"So the killer commits the murders to cover up something else?"

"Or as a means to some other end," King replied. "Some of the earlier victims showed bruising from restraints around their wrists and ankles. Only one of the Puerto Rico victims had similar bruises. The killer has become better at avoiding leaving physical evidence. He's obviously an organized killer, so he probably uses a murder kit, and a vehicle to transport his victims to wherever it is he keeps them. The time between kills varies, as does the length of time the victims are kept, which has ranged from two to six days. The Misadventure Killer has so far avoided making the mistake of leaving a single fingerprint, footprint, or hair he can be identified by."

"The Misadventure Killer, Mr. King," Horatio paused like he did when he put on sunglasses, "made the mistake of coming to Miami."


	11. The Note

Chapter 11: The Note

The next morning, Natalia arrived at work to find a tired-looking Eric reading through an old autopsy report. She looked over his shoulder. One of the autopsy photos showed a young man who bore a resemblance to their two victims. "What's this?" she asked.

"Rosendo Gutierez. He died in 2003. His death was ruled suicide."

"You think it's related to our case?"

"I don't know. His fingernails weren't trimmed like the latest two victims, there was no evidence of a struggle, there was gun shot residue on his hand..."

"Which is the kind of detail this killer could think of when staging a suicide," Natalia commented.

"The report also says there was a note."

"A suicide note?"

"Yeah. But the thing is, the case was closed and I can't find a copy of the note in any of the reports."

Natalia got on the computer and scrolled through the report of the investigation. "Huh. IAB was looking into this case."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Why don't you let me take a look at this. You have a gun to process for fingerprints."

Eric nodded. "Right. Thanks."

* * *

Calleigh walked into the fingerprint lab. "You paged?"

"Yeah," Eric answered. "I just finished processing the gun you found at the warehouse. There weren't any prints on the outside, but I found some on the bullets still in the chamber. They all came back to the victim."

She nodded. "So he was killed with his own gun."

"You don't sound surprised."

"Just reinforces the theory that he knew his killer, someone who could get close enough to take his gun from him."

"I heard what happened at the warehouse," he said after a momentary pause. "You ran in there without reinforcements."

"I heard a gunshot. If the victim had still been alive, I couldn't let him bleed to death while waiting for back-up."

He took a breath and nodded slightly. "You're right. I just worry about you."

"I appreciate that," she said before changing the subject. "You were out all day questioning safrole buyers. Think any of them could be a suspect?"

"No one stood out," Eric answered, his tone of voice switching from the concerned boyfriend to the professional scientist. "There were a few chemistry labs, an artist who uses it in her paints, a chef who uses it as an ingredient in his restaurant, and a few New Age medicine shops. A couple of people are getting citations for prohibited uses of safrole, but I didn't see any evidence that any of them were making ecstasy."

Calleigh shook her head slightly. "This killer's good at covering his tracks."

"Yeah," he agreed, "but we're really good at uncovering them."

"Yeah."

Eric looked down at his desk. "I'm going over to the deli for lunch when I finish up here. Want to join me?"

"I probably won't have time. I'm going check if the drug dealer has any known associates that could lead us to the ecstasy cook."

"Be careful," Eric requested. "One of them could easily be the killer."

She smiled at him. "Don't worry. I will be."

* * *

Natalia rushed to Horatio's office. "H, I think we've got something..." She froze at his door, shocked to find Hadrian King standing behind Horatio at the desk.

"Come in, Ms. Boa Vista. What have you found?"

She shook off her surprise and entered the room, closing the door behind her. "There was a suicide in 2003, a man named Rosendo Gutierez. He might have been an early victim of the killer."

"Agent King, didn't the killings in New Jersey begin in 2003?" Horatio asked.

"As near as we can tell."

"Killings in New Jersey?" Natalia asked curiously.

King explained. "The two murders you're investigating match the MO of a serial killer. We tracked him from New Jersey to Puerto Rico. When did Gutierez die?"

"June 19, 2003," Natalia read from the file.

"Then it could still be the same killer. His first confirmed victim in New Jersey died in November."

"He left a suicide note, but that note isn't in his file, because it was redacted as the result of an IAB investigation."

Horatio nodded. "I remember the case. A detective was named in the suicide note, Leo Kerrick. IAB was looking into whether he'd mishandled an earlier case involving the victim, but some other officers who knew Detective Kerrick pressured IAB not to pursue the case."

"We need to talk to Leo Kerrick," King said. "Not to mention IAB."

* * *

Rick Stetler grew tense when he saw Horatio Caine and Special Agent King outside his office. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

"We need all the files you have on the investigation of Leo Kerrick and the reported suicide of Rosendo Gutierez," King stated coldly.

"Why?"

Horatio answered. "There's a possibility Gutierez's death is related to our current cases."

"I don't see how. If I remember the case correctly, Gutierez shot himself in the head. He left a suicide note."

"We need to see that note," Horatio said.

"Your own Questioned Documents lab confirmed at the time that it was written in his handwriting. There was no indication of homicide."

"That isn't the point."

Stetler frowned. He glanced from Horatio to King. "I'll see what I can dig up. That case was a long time ago."

King took a seat, indicating that they would wait for as long as it took to get the information they wanted.

* * *

Leo Kerrick had left the police department years ago to work as a security guard for a private firm. Natalia caught him just as he was leaving his apartment to go to work.

"Mr. Kerrick?" she asked.

The large, stoop-shouldered man looked her over. "Who's asking?"

She showed him her badge. "Natalia Boa Vista. I'm with the crime lab. I was wondering if you could take a minute to answer some questions about Rosendo Gutierez?"

"I was cleared," he stated as he sidestepped her and headed to his car.

She turned to follow him. "We know that. We just need to know about the suicide note."

"Hey, I didn't put the gun in that kid's hand. Not my fault if there wasn't enough evidence to file his charges. It would've ended up being a he-said, she-said thing anyway, and there's no way a prosecutor was going to take it to court."

"What charges?" Natalia asked.

Kerrick reached his car. "The kid was mixed up. I could tell that from the start. But I didn't think he would kill himself, and even if I did, there's nothing I coulda done. That's what I told IAB and that's all I'm gonna say now." He got in his car and drove away.

Natalia took a deep, frustrated breath. Then she took out her cell phone and called Horatio. "Hey, it's me. Kerrick's not talking."

_"I'm not surprised,_" he replied._ "Rosendo's suicide note blamed Detective Kerrick for not taking him seriously when he reported a rape. Among others."_

"A rape? Who was raped?"

"_He was. Rosendo Gutierez reported that a woman he met drugged him, tied him up, raped him, then left him on the street. He went directly to the nearest police station to report it. Kerrick, according to the note, didn't believe Gutierez, in spite of his bruises, and refused to even take his statement._"

Natalia wasn't sure how to respond. She stared after Kerrick's departing car. "Oh man."

_"And it wasn't just him. The suicide note claims that he had no support from his friends or family, and received public ridicule when he wrote a letter to a newspaper about his experience."_

"So wait," Natalia said, "so you're saying Gutierez really did commit suicide?"

"_Yes. But that doesn't mean he wasn't a victim of the same killer."_


	12. Missing Piece

Chapter 12: Missing Piece

"What's going on?" Ryan asked as he and Calleigh walked into the room where Horatio, Natalia, and Agent King were waiting.

"Close the door, please," Horatio said.

Calleigh did, then she and Ryan looked at them questioningly.

"We have some new information on the killer."

"It's about time," said Ryan.

"There is reason to believe the deaths of Lara and Quiroga were the work of a serial killer," King stated. He laid out photographs on the table. "All of these men were found dead after a few days missing. In each case, the death looks like an accident or suicide. The first probable victim was Oscar Sandoval of New York City, who in June of 2003 went missing for three days before being found dead of an apparent heroin overdose. The second, in Newark, Max Randolph, missing for four days before being found dead in his car in a river, blood alcohol level over the legal limit. Matthew Coello of Staton Island was found in his house five days after being reported missing. When the body was discovered, beneath a collapsed shelf, he'd been dead for two days. Adan Vives-Garcia was missing for five days, killed by falling down his stairs, elevated blood alcohol level. Jorge Johnson was missing for four days, death by alcohol poisoning. Juan Ibarra-Blanco was missing six days and was found in his home, apparently killed by choking on his food. Brian Fuentes, missing five days, his death appeared to be due to auto-erotic asphyxiation, once again with a very high blood alcohol level. Manolo Garcia was missing for three days, and died by apparently accidental electrocution."

"Wow," Ryan said. "That's a lot of bodies."

King nodded. "Unfortunately, it's impossible to say definitively whether these were all the work of one killer, and there are a number of other cases where the time the victims were missing before death was indeterminable, and consequently not officially considered related."

"Still, that is a lot of bodies," Calleigh agreed with Ryan.

"And those are only the ones in the Tri-State area. As soon as the killings were reported to the media, the so-called Misadventure Killer left the area. The killings began again in Puerto Rico several months later. We believe there were five victims there." He spread out five more photographs along with accompanying files on the table. "Salvador Del Torro, missing four days, shot in apparent suicide. Augusto Loyola, missing three days, was found dead in the forest, his death the apparent result of a venomous snake bite, but the bite was determined by a herpetologist to be higher on the victim's leg than a snake could reach on its own. Raul Aritza, missing six days, killed in a fall, extremely high blood alcohol level. Nacio Rodriquez, missing three days, his death was staged to look like a suicide by hanging. Tito Enriquez, missing three days, was killed by a collision with a car, which was never found. We tried to keep any rumor that we were investigating a serial killer out of the press in Puerto Rico, but the story leaked, and once it did the killer disappeared again. Until now."

"Do we know anything about this killer?" asked Calleigh.

Natalia glanced at Horatio before answering. "Maybe."

"From the choice of victims, the killer is probably Hispanic and definitely fluent in Spanish," King said. "But no eyewitnesses ever came forward."

"But," Horatio added, "we know serial killers begin with less violent crimes before they escalate to murder."

"Meaning that maybe the killer is in the system for something else," Ryan said.

Horatio nodded. "Possibly in Miami."

Natalia took up the explanation. "There was a suicide victim in 2003, Rosendo Gutierez, who claimed he was drugged, restrained, and raped. He reported it to the papers and tried to report it to police, but no one believed him, because the rapist was a woman."

"That...can't be common," Ryan said.

"By some estimates two out of every thousand rapes is the victimization of a man by a woman," King said. "So no, it's not common. But it happens."

"Of course, it's probably even more under-reported than other rapes," Natalia commented. "But if what Gutierez claimed was true, it fits with the later murders, and he matches the serial killer's type. Not to mention that a lot of men who wouldn't let their guard down with a man might not think twice about getting in a car with a woman."

Calleigh asked, "So we have a description of this rapist?"

"Not a good one," King answered. "The detective Gutierez tried to report the crime to wouldn't take his statement, and didn't ask him to make a sketch. In his suicide note, Gutierez said the woman told him her name was Juanita, but no last name."

"And no reason to think that's a real first name," Ryan commented. "But there's still something I don't get. Don't most serial killers escalate? It doesn't look like there's any pattern to the time between the murders, or how long the killer keeps the victims for."

Calleigh leaned over the table to examine the autopsy photos of the victims. "I think there is a pattern. Natalia, take a look at the men the killer keeps longest. Do you see what I'm seeing?"

She stepped next to her and looked over the thirteen photographs. After a minute, she said, "The cuter the guy is, the longer he's kept alive."

"And just when I thought this investigation couldn't get any weirder," said Ryan.

"Gutierez wrote about his rape in a newspaper before he commit suicide. We know the killer reads the papers. That could be what prompted her to move to New Jersey, and what made her decide to kill her victims rather than risk being reported. It is absolutely imperative that you not discuss this case with anyone outside this room," King emphasized.

"Where's Eric?" Calleigh asked suddenly.

"I called him the same time we called you and Ryan," said Natalia. "He didn't answer."

"He said he was going out for lunch, but he should have been back by now." Calleigh pulled out her cell phone and hit Eric's speed dial. She listened to the ring, a frown growing on her face, until his voicemail message came on. "He's not picking up," she said.

Horatio and Ryan exchanged worried glances; they knew Eric would answer Calleigh's call if he could. Natalia's eyes flew back to the photos spread across the table; Eric fit the serial killer's type. King took in everyone's reactions. He understood their concerns, but as usual his expression gave no indication of his thoughts.

Calleigh rushed out of the room without another word.


	13. Nyctophobia

Chapter 13: Nyctophobia

LaKay's Deli was a small building a couple of blocks from the lab. The food was good, the prices low, and there was never a line. It was one of Eric's favorite places to go when he ate out for lunch. Calleigh sped there as fast as she could and parked in the handicap space on the street by the front door.

"Calleigh. Haven't seen you for a while. How are you?" LaKay asked, smiling from behind the counter.

"Has Eric been here today?"

"Yeah. He was in for lunch. Why?"

"When did he leave?"

LaKay was picking up on Calleigh's restrained fear. "About an hour and a half ago, maybe. Is he okay?"

"I hope so." Calleigh left as quickly as she came.

The deli's parking lot was shielded from the street by a row of trees. Calleigh found Eric's car there, empty. She took a deep breath to calm herself and dialed his cell phone again.

She heard a buzz coming from the bushes beside the parking lot and followed it until she found Eric's phone. It was starting to feel like a bad dream. Did the killer have Eric? How did she find him? How would they find her?

She called Horatio.

_"Did you find him?"_

"No." Her voice sounded level and calm. "I found his car and his cell outside LaKay's Deli. We're going to need to process the parking lot."

_"I understand. Calleigh, hang in there."_

_

* * *

_Eric awoke sore and dizzy. He tried to lift his hand to rub his head only to discover that something was holding his hands down. With some effort, he opened his heavy eyes. For a moment he was afraid he'd gone blind, but then decided he was in a pitch dark room. He shifted his arms and legs, learning that he was being restrained by what felt like heavily padded bars at his shoulders, elbows, wrists, knees, and ankles.

"Hey!" he shouted into the darkness. "Where am I? What's going on?"

There was no answer.

He let his eyes close again and laid his head back. He was on some kind of cushion, but he could feel a hard surface beneath it.

The memory of the parking lot came back.

_"Hey. What are you doing here? I didn't know you came here," he said when he spotted her._

_"I was actually looking for you. I know you told me to call you if I thought of anything, but I lost your number. I was just going to talk to you at your work, and they told me I could find you here."_

_"You could have talked to someone else on the case. You didn't need to find me."_

_"I know, but...the truth is I wanted to see you again. Anyway, I remembered someone asking if I could sell him some safrole. I told him no, but he wrote down his number for me, and I kept it. Maybe you can track down the number, or get a print off the paper or something."_

_"Maybe. We'd need to take your prints for elimination."_

_"Oh, that's fine. It's in my car."_

_She opened the passenger side door of her small white sedan. Eric put on a glove so he could collect the evidence without contaminating it further._

_"Dammit. Sorry." A small slip of paper fell from the car door and drifted to the ground._

_"I got it." Eric leaned down to pick it up. _

_He didn't see it coming._

_Something like a gas mask went over his mouth and nose. Her elbow dug into his back, keeping him from standing up. He lost consciousness in seconds._

There was no way of knowing how much time passed in the silence of that black room.

Eric didn't like the dark. It wasn't that he was afraid of it, he just couldn't stop thinking about all the dangerous things the dark could be concealing. Not being able to move made it so much worse. He kept thinking about the bodies of Freeman Lara and Pedro Quiroga spread out on the autopsy table. He started picturing himself on that same table, motionless, Dr. Price poised with her scalpel to begin cutting the Y-incision, Calleigh anxiously waiting for the results. Would she be as grief-stricken over his death as Darren Teague was over Quiroga's?

Would he ever see Calleigh again?

In the dark, anything became possible. Eric was increasingly convinced he was the prisoner of a serial killer, and that he'd be kept in this room until he died, that the darkness and the horrific images his mind was creating were the last things he'd ever see.

And then light flooded into the room. Eric squinted at the figure silhouetted in the doorway.

"You," he said. "You're the killer."


	14. Bound

Chapter 14: Bound

The CSIs didn't find anything else significant in the parking lot. There were no fingerprints on Eric's cell phone, meaning the killer had wiped it down before dumping it. They didn't find any footprints.

Calleigh looked up from painstakingly documenting the tire tracks in the parking lot when Frank Tripp stepped over the police tape.

"Did you find anything?" she asked.

"A hot dog vendor down the street saw a small white car come out of the parking lot around the time Eric left," he reported, "but he didn't get a make, model, or license plate number. He couldn't see the driver, but I showed him a picture of Eric and he said he coulda been the guy in the passenger seat. Said he looked like he was asleep."

_Or dead_, her brain added unbidden.

"We're still knocking and talking. Someone must have seen something, Cal. We'll find him."

"I'll head back to the lab, see if we can put together the description of the car with these tread impressions." She didn't even try to look happy about such an unlikely lead.

* * *

When his eyes adjusted to the light, Eric saw he was in a large empty room. It had one door, brick walls, and a white tile floor. His captor still stood in the doorway, looking at him. She'd been looking at him for several minutes.

Finally Eric decided to speak. "What do you want, Teresa? Or whatever your real name is."

She smiled and moved toward him slowly. "I want what you want."

"What is that?"

She laughed almost playfully. "I don't have to tell you that. You know." She stopped beside him. "Are you thirsty?" She brought out a bottle of wine she'd been holding behind her back.

"No. Let me go."

She laughed again, shaking her head. "Of course I can't do that. Even if I wanted to. You'd just turn me in if I let you go now. You know even more than any of the others knew. You already know what I'm capable of." She leaned down over him. "Maybe that will make you even more exciting."

She hadn't struck him as crazy when he interviewed her earlier. In fact, she'd been very polite and accommodating, flirting a little and apologizing that she couldn't help. And she didn't seem crazy now. She seemed every bit as controlled as she had before. That disturbed him. He didn't like the way she was looking at him, like a piece of artwork up for bid at an auction, like she was seeing a body without caring that there was a soul inside. His arms jolted in his restraints, trying to break them or slip out.

She stood back, a smile of amusement playing at her thick lips. "You know, you're only going to tire yourself out if you do that."

"What do you want with me?" he shouted.

"That's the problem with you men. It's always about you." She flipped open a razor she'd taken out of her pocket after putting the wine bottle on the floor.

He saw the blade come closer to his face, slowly. She watched the fear in his eyes, then she trailed the blade across his cheek, across his jaw. He was now holding very still. "That's better," she cooed. "Just keep in mind that I can do whatever I want with you, and we're both going to enjoy this more." She brushed the blade of the knife over his lips, still without breaking the skin, then she slid it down his neck, and cut off the top button of his shirt.

He was trying not to shake.

"Now look what you made me do," she said, examining the button. "I'm not very good at sewing. My aunt tried to teach me, but I never did pick it up. Are you ready for some wine? Or would you prefer something a little harder?"

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"I can't help myself, baby," she said. "Some men are just irresistible." She ran her fingertip from his chin down his chest, moving aside his shirt where she'd cut away the button. "But whose fault is that?" Her hand began wandering over his shirt, feeling the muscles of his chest and abdomen.

"Don't touch me," he growled. It felt like she was leaving a trail of contamination across his skin.

She didn't stop. "So you're the type who likes to play hard to get. I'm okay with that. More fun that way. More of a challenge."

He started thrashing again, shaking his head, flexing his muscles, clenching his fists. Anything that was free to move, he moved.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. We've got plenty of time for foreplay." She picked up the wine bottle and left the room, turning off the lights before closing the door.

* * *

The rain was falling again. It was running down the windows of the lab. Calleigh tried not to think about it washing away any possible evidence still in the parking lot.

"Hey. Any luck?" Natalia asked as she entered the room.

After a moment of trying to think of something optimistic to say, Calleigh shook her head. "No. This is just too general. A small white car? And there's no way to tell which tire tread in the parking lot came from the car that took Eric."

Natalia put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll find him."

"Everyone keeps saying that, but we have nothing to go on," she lamented.

"Not quite. I was reading Rosendo's suicide note to see if there was anything in it that could help us identify the killer." She faltered when Calleigh turned to her with hope-filled eyes. Her idea suddenly seemed inadequate in the face of that hope. "He said the rapist told him she'd done the same thing to other men. I checked through police reports of rapes, and nothing matched, so I asked Agent King to look through emergency room records for any Hispanic males showing up with ligature marks and genital injuries." She decided she should have left that out when Calleigh winced and glanced away. "Maybe we'll get lucky," Natalia concluded.

"We need to," she said. "Eric needs us to."


	15. The Break

Chapter 15: The Break

He was sure it had been hours since Teresa left. The lightless room was stuffy and hot. Beads of sweat were beginning to drip down his skin. He couldn't help but wonder how long it would take to die if he was left here. He tried the bands around his wrists again. They were too thick to be handcuffs, but they were metal, surrounded by some kind of rubbery material that was too tight to slip out of but too soft to leave bruises. That's why the bodies of Quiroga and Lara didn't have any marks indicating they'd been held against their will. The woman thought of everything. He was now even more convinced Quiroga hadn't been her first murder.

There was no sound in the room except his own breathing. Not even the ubiquitous noise of traffic or passing airplanes. That meant either he was outside the city or this room was soundproof. Either way, yelling for help wasn't going to get him anywhere. He should have been strong enough to escape, strong enough to fight. How could he be so stupid to let himself get caught like this in the first place?

Maybe he could convince her he wouldn't try to escape, get her to let him go.

Not likely. He already told her he knew she was a murderer. She wasn't going to trust him. He was doing everything wrong.

His gun was gone, he could tell by the absence of its weight at his side. Same with his cell phone. He was pretty sure his badge was gone too, and his wallet. He was completely at her mercy, if she had any.

The light came on. "So you're awake. I was hoping you would have gotten some rest." She was wearing a short dress that emphasized her curvaceous figure. Her dark hair was curled. He'd noted when he was questioning her that she was pretty. She had large, warm hazel eyes and a friendly smile. There had been nothing in her looks or demeanor that even hinted she'd be capable of something like this.

He glared at her.

"Don't be like that, baby. Here, I brought you some water." She tipped a plastic bottle to his lips. He kept his mouth tightly shut and let the cool water run down his chin and neck.

She frowned. "You know, I don't have to be nice to you. You said I was the killer. Do your cop friends know there's a killer? Is that why you were questioning me?" At his silence, she continued, "Then I guess it doesn't matter what I do to you. The others, I was trying not to leave a mark. With you it doesn't matter. They'll know no matter how I kill you." Her razor came out again. She pressed it against his neck, just above his carotid artery. One slice was all it would take.

He closed his eyes. He could feel the blade's edge press into his skin with each beat of his pulse, but he was determined not to give Teresa the satisfaction of seeing his fear. He thought about Calleigh, tried to maintain his composure as well as she could in that situation.

Teresa watched him, irritated at his lack at reaction. With one swift move the blade flashed away from his neck and instead sliced his hand. He winced at the unexpected pain.

"I'm sorry, baby. I really don't mean to lose my temper." Teresa wiped the blood off on his shirt, then put away the razor. "Why are you being so stubborn?"

He opened his eyes, but didn't look at her and didn't speak.

"I see. You're the strong silent type?" Ignoring the blood still dripping down his hand, she leaned over him and began unbuttoning his shirt. "I can work with that," she breathed huskily. Her fingers brushed lightly over the now-bare skin of his chest and stomach, and she began kissing his neck.

Eric shuddered with revulsion. She ignored it, and began tugging at his belt buckle.

"Get your hands off me!" he shouted, snarling.

She sat back, looking insulted. "What's wrong, baby? Don't you think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're a killer."

"Oh come on." She smiled. "Since when has a little thing like that mattered to a man?" Then she frowned. "Is there another woman? Is that it?"

Eric looked away. He didn't believe for a moment that telling her there was another woman would get her hands off him, and telling the truth might put Calleigh in danger.

"I don't have time to play your games right now. I have places to be," Teresa said. From beneath the table she brought out a small gas canister attached to a gas mask. She fit it over Eric's mouth and nose. He tried to turn his head away, but his movements were too constricted to evade it. In a few seconds, he was unconscious again.

* * *

Calleigh looked up from the computer, which continued to give her nothing.

Agent King stood at the door.

"What is it?" Calleigh asked, eager for any development.

"We've brought in a man who may have been one of Misadventure's first rape victims. We haven't begun questioning him yet."

She stood up. "He's in interrogation now?"

King nodded. "Keep in mind, if this man was victimized he never reported it. It will be an extremely sensitive topic. It's possible he won't feel comfortable with a woman in the room. It's equally possible that he would expect a woman to be more sympathetic to his trauma than another man, and consequently open up to you rather than to me or Lieutenant Caine."

They went to the interrogation room. Horatio was waiting outside the door. King headed toward the observation room.

"You're not coming in?" Calleigh asked.

"I seem to intimidate people," he replied.

Horatio and Calleigh entered the interrogation room. The man sitting at the table bore a notable resemblance to Eric.

"Ethan Salvador, My name is Horatio Caine, this is Calleigh Duquesne. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"About what? The officer who brought me in here said I might know something about a criminal, but I swear I have no idea what this is all about."

"One night, seven years ago, you were admitted to the emergency room with severe head trauma, bruises on your wrists and ankles, and a broken wrist. You claimed at the time that you had sustained those injuries...in a bar fight, is that right?"

"Yeah. So?"

"You never pressed charges."

"It was just a fight."

Calleigh watched silently as Horatio did the questioning. She was praying that this would turn out to be a solid lead.

"Who was the fight with?"

"I don't remember his name."

Horatio nodded. "Ethan, it is very important that you tell the truth. Someone's life may depend on it. Now tell me, is it possible the person who inflicted those injuries was a woman?"

He flinched. "No. Of course not. I'd never let a woman...I'd never get in a fight with a woman. I'm not...that would be pathetic."

"We don't think you did," Horatio said. "If it's the woman we think it is, she ambushed you. You never had a chance to defend yourself."

"That didn't happen." They could both hear the lie in his voice.

Calleigh leaned forward and looked imploringly at the man across the table. "Mr. Salvador, one of our colleagues is missing, and something you know could help us find him."

He bit his lip, looking sympathetic but still reluctant.

"We know what she does," Calleigh continued. "It wasn't your fault. We know that. But we need you to tell us everything you remember about her. I need you to tell us. Please."

Ethan frowned and took a deep breath. "She hit me from behind. I didn't see it coming. And then she handcuffed me to her bed." He shook his head. "I never told anyone. I knew that they wouldn't believe me or they would wonder what was wrong with me. How could I let her overpower me? How could I let her do that to me? Or...or..." he swallowed. He'd gone pale as he spoke. "Or wonder why I didn't like it. No one would understand, or even listen."

"We're listening now," Horatio said gently.

"She kept telling me I wanted it," Ethan whispered. "I felt like my body was turning against me. I felt so helpless. I couldn't move, like a deer in headlights."

"That's called tonic immobility. It's a defense mechanism that frequently affects victims during an assault," Horatio commented.

"And then...maybe it was the head injury, but then it was like it wasn't even me, like I was watching it happen to someone else. And I kept thinking I was going to die, she was going to kill me, and I couldn't do anything to make it stop."

Calleigh silently stood up and walked out of the room. She went to the observation room to watch the rest of the interview. "I think you're right; he'll be more comfortable talking about this without a woman in the room," she lied.

"Cases like this can get to people." King said, letting her know he didn't believe her excuse.

"It's just...what he went through..."

"You have some idea what that's like," King stated, "because of the Seth McAdams case."

She looked at him with surprise.

"He was an attempted rapist. He and his accomplice drugged you, restrained you, and threatened to kill you."

"Why do you know so much about that case?"

"I try to know as much as I can about the people I work with."

"Then you know what I went through in the past isn't going to affect my work on this case."

"But it influences how this case affects you," he replied. "You know what the victims went through, and now the man you love may be experiencing the same thing."

She stared at him.

"If it didn't get to you a little, you wouldn't be human," he said as though he hadn't noticed he'd openly revealed knowledge of something she'd been trying to hide. He turned up the volume on the interrogation.

"Where did you meet her?" Horatio asked Ethan.

"We were in a class together at the Miami Art Institute. I had a crush on her. I could hardly believe it when she agreed to go out with me. I had no idea what she was planning. That's another reason I didn't report it; I knew the cops wouldn't believe me. They'd just think the sex was consensual, since we were on a date."

"I believe you. Do you remember her name?"

"Anabel. Anabel Luis."

King flipped open his cell phone and stepped out of the room.

"It still doesn't make sense," Ethan continued. "I haven't been able to talk to anyone about it. I know my friends wouldn't understand, my family wouldn't believe me, and every woman I've dated since then...I've been scared that they wouldn't want to be with me if they knew, or they would think I was lying. I can't believe I could let something like that happen to me."

"It's not your fault," Horatio assured him. "There are people you can talk to, professionals who will be able to help you. And I will see to it that Anabel Luis does not escape justice."

A moment later, Horatio, Calleigh, and Agent King met outside the interrogation room.

"We're looking for Anabel Luis now," King told them. "Unfortunately, that won't be an uncommon name. Finding her may take some time."

"Maybe not," Calleigh said. "Eric mentioned one of the safrole buyers he questioned was an artist. Ethan met the rapist at the art institute. Could be the same woman."

Horatio nodded. "We should check into that."

They went to his office. He found the file on the safrole buyers that Eric and Natalia had compiled and flipped through the notes until he found the name of the artist. "Teresa Rey."

"It could still be the same person," Calleigh said. "Considering how careful she's been about hiding her trail, changing her identity is the kind of thing she might do."

"Let's pay Miss Rey a visit," Horatio agreed.


	16. The Slip

Chapter 16: The Slip

Horatio's fist pounded against the door of the townhouse listed as Teresa Rey's address. "Miami-Dade PD," he announced. "Miss Rey? Open this door!"

"No one's here," Calleigh said, turning the corner after circling the building. She looked at the dark window and mumbled to herself, "He's not here."

"Are you sure?" Horatio questioned. "Are you sure you didn't hear a cry for help?"

She raised her eyebrow. "Come to think of it, maybe I did here something. Of course, it could've just been my imagination. But there's only one way to find out."

"Probable cause," Horatio concluded, drawing his gun and bracing himself to kick down the door.

The living room was crowded with easels and canvases, two sofas, a television set, and a stereo system. The chemical smell of paint thinner hung in the air.

Calleigh stepped through the living room, glanced into the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. "Clear," she announced with disappointment.

"They have to be somewhere." He dialed a number on his cell phone. "Agent King, the suspect's house is empty. Any idea where else she might be?"

_"According to IRS records, she works from home and doesn't have any other properties. She has no known family in Miami. She bought her house in March of 2008. We haven't been able to confirm any record of her before that."_

"Keep looking. And keep us in the loop."

"Horatio," Calleigh said, "There's no evidence that she's our killer, or that she's cooking ecstasy."

"Which just means she's not doing it here."

"She could be with Eric right now."

"Let's not think about that, okay? We need to focus on the evidence."

She nodded, then noticed something on the welcome mat by the door. She knelt down. "There's some kind of white trace here. If it's ecstasy it could connect Teresa Rey to the murder of Pedro Quiroga." She pulled on a pair of gloves and took a small sample of the substance, disturbing it as little as possible, since any evidence she gathered now without a warrant could be challenged. While she considered that, all she cared about at the moment was finding Eric.

"Let's get that to the lab. We'll leave an officer to watch the house."

They rushed back to the lab, and Calleigh delivered the sample to Trace.

"Having you looking over my shoulder isn't going to help me identify this faster," Travers said. "I know you're worried about Delko. We all are. But this is going to take as long as it takes."

"You're right. I'm sorry," Calleigh said. She retreated from the room and waited in the hall outside.

The many times her life had been in danger, Calleigh had been able to respond to the situation with calm ingenuity. But now, when it was Eric's life, she was frustrated and couldn't even think straight. She closes her eyes and took a deep breath.

"You okay?" Natalia asked.

Calleigh looked up. "Yeah," she said, sounding and looking much calmer and more confident than she felt. "I just wish there was more I could be doing."

"Relax," Natalia suggested. "If the Misadventure Killer follows her pattern, she'll keep Eric at least five or six days."

Calleigh laughed softly, but her smile was gone in a moment. "I feel so helpless," she admitted.

"That's how he felt when you were kidnapped. I think he would've given anything to find you safe." Natalia smiled comfortingly. "And we did find you. And we'll find him. It's what we do, and we're really good at it."

Calleigh's phone rang. She answered it quickly. "Duquesne."

_"We may have found Teresa Rey," _Horatio said. _"There's an art gallery opening tonight. She's registered as one of the artists attending."_

"When?"

_"Now. Meet me outside."_

* * *

Eric awoke in the dark once again. He was nauseous, his mouth was dry, and he could feel sweat drip down the bare skin of his shoulders. She'd removed his shirt while he was knocked out. He wondered what else she could have taken.

He pushed the thought from his mind, and instead thought about Calleigh, summoning happy memories of her, reminding himself that she was looking for him.

But he couldn't escape the accompanying thought that he might never see her again, that she could be the one to find his lifeless body.

A teardrop slid across his face, and then another. "Calleigh," he whispered into the darkness.

* * *

The long, brightly lit room was packed with paintings, sculptures, and tables where wine and hors d'oeuvres were served. Well-dressed people strolled between the displays, occasionally pausing to admire this piece or that, or chatting with the artists, who were eager to discuss their work.

"Excuse me," Horatio asked the woman behind the front table. "We're looking for Teresa Rey."

"Far right, towards the back. Look for the double-helix metalwork and the surrealist cityscape."

The two CSIs moved through the crowed. They found a sculpture made of iron strips welded into the shape of DNA, about eight feet tall, that became tighter and smaller toward the top until it ended in a choked tangle of wire. The plaque in front of it identified the piece's title as "Discovery" and the artist as Teresa Rey. Behind it were five paintings and two sketches also identified as Rey's work. The largest was of skyscrapers melting into birds in the sky and rats on the sidewalks.

"What do you think?" ask a soft feminine voice with a Puerto Rican accent.

"The artist is quite talented," Horatio said, turning toward the young, pretty woman with dark curly hair and a short maroon dress. "Are they yours?"

"Yes."

"You're Teresa Rey?"

"Yes."

"I'm Lieutenant Horatio Caine, and this Calleigh Duquesne, with the Miami-Dade crime lab. Can we talk to you outside please?" Horatio asked, showing his badge.

"Is this about the safrole again? Because, like I told the other cop, I mix my own paints, and I use it in some of them. Nothing illegal."

"We can easily take one of your paintings back to the lab and figure out just how much safrole ends up in the paint," Calleigh told her.

"Not without a warrant you can't. Unless you want to buy one."

"We went by your house earlier. Nice place. Hard to believe an artist can afford it without any supplemental income."

"You'd be surprised how much my paintings go for," she replied.

Horatio continued, "I think it's more likely that you make your money selling drugs and you attribute the income to selling art. Good cover. But not good enough."

"I don't think you can prove anything," Teresa retorted.

"You know, that's not what this is about. Now will you please answer a few questions outside?"

She stared at him. "No. I'm busy. And if you had enough to arrest me, you would have done it already."

"Ms. Rey, you can either answer some questions outside or we can arrest you right here for obstructing an investigation," Calleigh said.

Teresa glanced around and then reluctantly headed for the door. Calleigh and Horatio followed a step behind her, ready to spring if she tried anything.

Once in the parking lot, she turned to them. "So?"

"Where," Horatio asked her gravely, "is Eric Delko."

"The cop who questioned me before? I don't know. He's missing?"

"You do not want to play games with us, Miss Rey."

"I'm not. I swear, I don't know what you're talking about."

"We're talking about the murders of Pedro Quiroga and Freeman Lara, among others."

"And the kidnapping of Eric Delko," Calleigh added, "And I promise, if you don't tell us where to find him, prison will be the least of your worries."

The slight trace of a smug smile appeared in Teresa's face. "I'm sorry, are you trying to threaten me, blondie?"

An innocent-looking smile appeared on Calleigh's face. "No. That wasn't a threat." The smile took on a menacing edge as she added, "_this _is a threat." The next instant, her smile was gone and her gun was out, pointed squarely between Teresa's eyes. "If you so much as _touch _Eric, I will kill you. And I am a _very_ good shot."

"Calleigh..." Horatio said in a mildly cautionary tone.

She returned her gun to it's holster, glared at the suspect for another moment, then turned and walked away.

"Did you see that?" Teresa said indignantly. "That bitch threatened to kill me!"

"Yes she did," Horatio confirmed.

"Aren't you going to do something?"

"Miss Rey, if we don't find Eric Delko safe, the kindest thing I'd be willing to do for you would be letting _her_ get to you first." He followed after Calleigh, keeping a hand on his gun and an eye on Teresa, who after a few moments started speed-walking in the opposite direction.

Horatio joined Calleigh in the Hummer.

Moments later, a white car sped out of the parking lot, Teresa behind the wheel. Horatio picked up the radio. "Frank, she's leaving now. White sedan."

"_Got it," _Tripp answered.

"Don't get too close. We can't let her know she's being followed."

"_Don't worry. My guys are set up to trade off tailing her. Hopefully she'll lead us straight to wherever she's hidin' Eric."_

"Let's hope so," he agreed.

They waited for a few minutes, listening to the updates on the pursuit of their suspect.

"Did I cross the line back there?" Calleigh asked.

He almost smiled. In all the years he'd known Calleigh, she'd only ever stretched the rules to protect people. Including him, even when she disapproved of how far he went over the line. "I don't think I'm the right one to ask."

"I guess not," Calleigh said. "The thing is...I think I meant it. I think that if she kills Eric..."

"That's an understandable instinct."

_"Suspect's turning left from 57th into a parking garage,"_ reported Officer Nance, who was currently trailing Teresa's car.

A moment later, Calleigh said thoughtfully, "We don't know how many people she killed. If she makes a plea bargain to avoid the death penalty, it could close a lot of open cases, get some closure for the victims' families."

"You can always take yourself off the case, if you don't trust your judgment."

She shook her head. "No I can't. You know that."

_"I lost sight of the car. Repeat: not in visual contact with the suspect. Perez, do you have visual?"_

Calleigh leaned forward to follow the radio chatter.

_"Negative."_

_"Carson?"_

_"That's a negative, but I've got eyes on the structure's west exit."_

A minute passed in tense silence.

"_I've located the car_," Nance stated. "_It's abandoned. No sign of the suspect._"

"No!" Calleigh's hands flew to cover her face. "Oh, God. Eric..."


	17. Trace

Chapter 17: Trace

It was late when Horatio and Calleigh got back to the lab, but the day shift CSIs were still there. No one would leave until Eric was found.

Agent King stood outside Horatio's office, talking on the phone. He ended his call when he saw them coming.

"You know what happened," Horatio stated.

"Yes. The suspect's in the wind."

"It was a calculated risk, and it didn't work," he said.

"You let your personal feelings get in the way, and confronted the suspect prematurely," King replied with no indication of reproach. "But it's too late to undo that. I've expedited the delivery of the security footage from the parking garage. An FBI team is executing a search warrant on Teresa Rey's house as we speak, and I did inform them that you had already done a preliminary search."

Horatio nodded. "I appreciate your consideration."

"You'd better." He glanced from Horatio to Calleigh. "I know your careers are of little concern to you right now, but it would be regrettable for you to throw them away unnecessarily."

"Have you found anything?" Horatio asked him.

"Teresa Rey's full name is Anabel Teresa Luis-Reyes. She was born in Puerto Rico in 1981. Her mother died in childbirth, her father died a few years later in a bar fight, and she was raised by her maternal aunt. She moved to Miami to attend art school under the name Anabel Luis. She began going by Anabel Reyes after moving to New York in 2003, and there's no confirmed record of her again until she reappeared in Miami as Teresa Rey. There's no official record of any secondary property holdings."

"She had a metal sculpture at the gallery," Calleigh recalled. "We didn't find any welding equipment or metal at her house. She'd need somewhere with a lot of open space to do metalwork."

"And it could be the same place where she or someone she works with cooks ecstasy," Horatio added.

"We're still looking," King assured them.

"Let us know if you find anything else."

"I will. You do the same this time." King stepped past them and walked away.

* * *

Eric flinched when the light came on. His eyes opened slowly.

Teresa stood at the door, looking murderously unhappy. "I met your girlfriend." She crossed the room slowly. "The blonde. What was her name? Calleigh?"

He didn't say anything. He was trying to keep his expression from giving away his fear that she'd done something to her.

"She said that she would kill me if I touched you." She sounded amused, but wasn't touching him. "She's jealous. I knew there was another woman. There always is with men like you," Teresa continued. She dragged her knife into his field of vision. "Do you love her more than me?"

He was tempted to tell her he loved mosquitoes more than her, but decided to try to come up with something a little less likely to get him killed. "You should talk, Teresa."

She glared at him. "What do you mean?"

"How many other men have there been? We know about two, but I'm guessing there were a lot more than that."

Indignation mixed with the anger in her expression. "So? Men get to have as many lovers as they want. Why shouldn't I?"

"Because you kill them," he flippantly stated.

"It is the only way to keep men from straying," she argued. "Or from talking about you to their friends, calling you a slut just because you let them get with you, without even thinking about what that makes them. Ruining a girl's reputation without ever worrying about their own."

"So it's better to be a murderer?"

"It's a lot more respectable to get called a murderer than a slut."

He wasn't sure if she was crazy or just twisted, but as long as he kept her talking she wasn't killing him. "Whatever happened to you, Teresa, you know not all men are like that."

"Nothing happened," she said. "And all men _are _like that, no matter how much they pretend they're not. How many men has that pretty blonde thing been with?"

"I don't know. It doesn't matter to me."

Teresa turned away, then turned back with a sour sneer, and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. "So you do love her."

He couldn't bring himself to lie, so he said nothing.

"You know what?" Teresa said, stepping closer and toying with her knife. "I'm going to give you a choice: say you love her, and I'll kill you right now, or say you love me, and I let you live."

She was lying, he knew. She'd kill him no matter what he said. But probably not yet. She'd kept the other men alive for a few days. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there, but he thought it couldn't have been that long. She was toying with him, and she would until she got whatever it was she wanted from him. He closed his eyes and didn't speak.

Teresa pressed the knife against the skin of his neck. "Say it," she said in a dangerous whisper. "Don't try me. I am _not _a patient woman. Just say you love me. It's easy. Men lie to women to get what they want all the time. You want to live. I don't know why you're making this so difficult."

He continued to ignore her.

She leaned closer to him. "Come on," she'd lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. "Don't tease me like this. I know you want this. You want me. Forget about her." She pressed her lips to his.

Eric jerked his head aside. The knife bit into his neck, drawing blood. "Get off me!" he shouted, no longer able to keep control. "Don't touch me."

"You can't stop me," she said smugly.

And it was true. Even if he'd rather die than endure this, it wasn't his choice to make. It was hers. She had the control. Complete control. Even her rapid-seeming mood swings were probably carefully calculated to throw him off and break him down.

Eric bit his lip, trying not to let his expression show his sudden epiphany.

She wanted control. She didn't like being told what to do.

"You know what? I do love her. A lot. And she loves me. And if you kill me, she'll find you. Or another cop will. Cop killers don't usually make it to trial. So go ahead and kill me," he said. "Do it. I know you can. I know you've killed before. Go ahead and slit my throat."

"Do you really want to die?" she asked coldly. "She'll never find me. I'm very good at covering my tracks. But she'll find you. I'll send you to her one piece at a time. Do you really prefer that?"

He didn't. He really wanted to survive this. But he was betting that if she thought he wanted to die it would keep him alive longer, hopefully long enough for Calleigh and Horatio to find him. He decided that once again the safest answer would be silence. Two could play those mind games.

Teresa moved back, trembling with anger and frustration, real or feigned. "I thought not. Now you are going to apologize. Then you are going to beg for your life. And then you are going to do whatever I tell you to to keep yourself alive."

* * *

"The white substance doesn't match the MDMA found by Eric and Natalia," Travers reported to Horatio and Calleigh. "In fact, it's not even MDMA; it's calcium sulfate and a blue pigment: colored chalk. Not shocking at the house of an artist."

"Another dead end," Calleigh muttered.

Ryan had just entered. "I think I have a new lead," he announced. "I was going over the security footage from the garage where the car was dumped, and I found this." He handed Horatio a blown-up image of a black SUV with tinted windows. "That matches the description of the car a witness saw outside Lara's apartment. It left the garage about half a minute after Officer Nance lost the suspect. Unfortunately, the license plate number is fake. I already put a BOLO out for the car."

"What's that in the back window?" Horatio asked.

"It's a pass for a long-term parking lot in Wynwood."

Calleigh looked over the map of the area around the parking lot that Ryan had printed out. "Teresa Rey works from home, and she doesn't live anywhere near that neighborhood. What was she doing there?"

"That is a very good question," Horatio replied. He dialed Agent King's number. "We've found something. I need to know if Teresa Rey has any connection to Wynwood. I'll have Mr. Wolfe send you the details."

* * *

Patrol spotted the black SUV at the side of a road a few blocks from the parking lot. Horatio and Calleigh met Frank there.

"I've got my guys canvassing the area," Frank said. "She couldn't've gone very far on foot."

"Especially not in this neighborhood," Horatio said. "But she could have taken a cab or had another car waiting."

Calleigh disagreed. "I don't think she was planning that far ahead. She didn't know we were onto her until tonight, and she likely doesn't know anyone's been able to connect this car to her. I'm betting she went straight to her hideout when she was sure she wasn't being followed."

Horatio nodded and answered his cell phone. "Caine."

_"It's me,_" said the raspy voice of Agent King. "_I've found nothing in Teresa Rey's records, but there are a few places meeting the criteria for a hide-out within walking distance of that parking lot: a storage facility, an abandoned school, a condemned apartment building, and eight foreclosed houses_."

"We're acting on the assumption that she's hiding out at the same place where she's manufacturing MDMA. She'd need privacy and electricity."

"_I know. I already factored in those considerations._"

Horatio glanced at Calleigh. "A storage facility, a school, an apartment building, and eight houses. I trust officers are already on their way to each location?"

"_Yes_."

"The school," Calleigh suddenly said. "We found traces of chalk at her house, but I didn't see any artworks at the gallery or at her house that used chalk. She could've picked up chalk dust incidentally at a school."

"Agent King, we need the address of that school."


	18. Aftermath

Chapter 18: Aftermath

The dilapidated school building had been closed for less than a year, and already many of the windows were broken and weeds choked out the grass in the narrow lawn.

Horatio, Calleigh, and Frank entered the dark building, guns drawn. It appeared to be empty. No sound or light invaded the suffocating emptiness of the halls. They made their way in silence, listening for any stray voice or footstep.

They split up to search the building. After a few minutes, Horatio's cell phone vibrated with a text message from Frank saying he'd found a drug lab in what used to be the cafeteria. It was empty now, but it indicated they were in the right place. Horatio sent messages to Frank and Calleigh to keep looking.

There was a small strip of light along the floor, streaming out from beneath a closed door deep inside the building. Calleigh sent a text telling Horatio and Frank about it, then she moved toward it slowly. She thought she heard a voice coming from the room. She slowly tried the doorknob.

It was unlocked.

Slowly, with the cold calmness that took possession of her in life-or-death situations, Calleigh turned the handle, then threw the door open and burst in, gun first. "Miami-Dade PD!"

"Put down the gun and walk out slowly or I slit his throat," Teresa Rey responded smoothly. She was lying across Eric, who was strapped to a counter top fitted with padded metal restraints Teresa had fashioned herself. She held a knife to her hostage's neck, the tip denting the skin slightly just above the carotid artery.

Calleigh's heart froze. "How about instead you put down the knife and I don't shoot you?"

Teresa scoffed. "If you love this man as much as he says you do, I don't think you'll risk taking that shot."

Eric's dark eyes were fixed on Calleigh's face. "I trust you, Calleigh," he whispered hoarsely.

"Quiet, baby. This is between us girls," Teresa told him, pressing the knife just a little bit harder.

"That isn't true." Horatio entered the room, stepping around Calleigh, his gun also pointed at Teresa. "We know about the other men you raped and killed, the ones in Puerto Rico and New Jersey. You're going to answer for those crimes, Ms. Rey."

"Maybe. But not today. If you shoot me, my last act on earth will be killing him. Then he, like the others, will be mine forever. And you'll have to live with that."

"No." Calleigh's voice was quiet but firm. "Eric will never be yours, Teresa. None of them are. You can take their lives, but you'll never possess them. You'll always be alone."

"You don't know me. You don't know what you're talking about. But I know you. I know that if you were going to shoot me, you would have taken the shot already. Now, are you going to kill us, or are you going to let me go? Walk out of the room, and I'll leave, and give him back to you alive."

"She's lying," Eric said. "Take the shot."

Calleigh swallowed. If she didn't take the suspect out with the first shot, Teresa would kill Eric. The surest way to take out a target instantly was a shot to the head, but Teresa had positioned her head just to the side of Eric's, so that if the bullet went through her head the shot could kill Eric too.

"She doesn't dare," Teresa remarked.

Horatio took a few sideways steps, looking for a better angle for a shot. "But I do," he stated.

She flashed a taunting smile at him. "I bet you do."

Calleigh lowered her gun slowly. "You're right."

Eric stared at her in dismay. "Cal...what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, Eric." She looked pleadingly at Teresa. "Please, just don't hurt him. We'll let you go if you let him go."

"That's better," Teresa said. She glanced at Horatio. "Now you put yours down, and we can make a deal."

Horatio looked uncertain for a long moment, then set his gun on the floor.

Teresa laughed and sat up.

In the next second the shattering bang of a gunshot filled the room. Teresa fell to the floor, along with a mist of blood splatter and her knife.

Calleigh sprinted across the room. "Eric," she breathed, leaning over him. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head, not sure what had just happened.

Agent King walked over from where he'd been, at the back of the room next to a side door, which he had unlocked while Teresa was distracted. His gun was still pointed at the killer's body.

Eric glanced at Horatio, now realizing that Horatio's movements through the room had not been looking for a better angle to shoot Teresa, but to draw her attention away from the side of the room where King was getting into position.

Calleigh used her sleeve to wipe the blood off Eric's face. "Are you okay?" she repeated.

"Yeah."

She felt around the metal shackles until she found a latch releasing them.

As soon as Eric's arms were free, he wrapped them around her. "I was so afraid I'd never see you again."

She held him tightly, overjoyed beyond words to have him alive.

Horatio approached Agent King, who was looking at what was left of Teresa's face with an introspective blankness. "That was a good shot."

"I'm not sure she would agree," King replied.

Detective Tripp appeared at the door. "What the hell happened in here?"

* * *

"I guess we'll never know why Teresa Rey did it," Stetler said disapprovingly.

"We never really know why anyone kills someone else," Agent King replied. "Whatever reasons we come up with are never satisfactory."

"Maybe she had an abusive childhood. Or maybe she was a victim of rape herself and out for revenge against all men."

"It's possible," King conceded. "It's also possible she had a brain defect that turned her into a rapist and a killer. Or she was just evil. Would you even be asking these questions if the killer were a man?"

"Even if the suspect were a man, I would be asking why he was dead instead of in custody. It's my job to ask why when an officer kills a suspect instead of arresting them. Because you're the one who fired the kill shot, instead of one of the CSIs who were first on the scene, the inquiry into the shooting is out of my hands, but I still think killing the suspect could have been avoided if Lieutenant Caine and CSI Duquesne had handled the investigation better."

"How, specifically, do you think the investigation was mishandled?"

Stetler replied, "They broke into the suspects house without a warrant, and then confronted the suspect without back-up. For starters."

King leveled his withering gaze on the IAB agent. "The way I see it, they went beyond the call of duty to find a serial killer and save the life of a fellow police officer."

"Using possibly illegal means."

"The defendant would be more than welcome to bring that up in court. I'm sure, with a good enough defense attorney, she could even have had the case thrown out, though there are three other states and a territory that would be able and more than willing to press charges of their own. But she lost that chance when she created a situation in which an officer had to use deadly force to keep her from taking another life."

"So you aren't bothered by the actions of Calleigh and Horatio at all?"

"You know what I'm bothered by?" King replied. "If the IAB had investigated the claims of a young man who fell victim to a terrible crime and found no help from a law enforcement officer who was sworn to serve and protect him, the Misadventure Killer may have been apprehended before she escalated to murder. The IAB had information about the killer on file the whole time. Your eagerness to use a questionable lab finding to damage Horatio and his team may have hindered their investigation."

Stetler didn't have a response to the FBI agent's rebuke.

"It would be prudent for you to avoid any more investigations into the Miami crime lab on such dubious grounds, or some people might wonder if you have a personal vendetta against them."

"I'll keep that in mind," Stetler said.

"See that you do," King concluded before walking out of the office.

* * *

"So did you know the whole time that Agent King would be coming in the back door?" Eric asked Horatio and Calleigh at the diner where they'd gone for breakfast after he was released from the hospital.

"I just had the text message from King saying 'Keep her talking'," Horatio answered. "I didn't know what he was planning."

"I had no idea," said Calleigh. "I was completely surprised when he opened that door."

"You didn't show it," Eric said admiringly.

"I couldn't. Not without Teresa catching on."

He looked at Calleigh and Horatio with deep gratitude. "Thank you. If you hadn't found me when you did..."

"But we did," Horatio interrupted him.

Eric smiled and nodded, agreeing with Horatio's reminder not to dwell on what might have happened.

"I have to get to the lab," Horatio said. "I want both of you to take a personal day. Agent King is dealing with the IAB, and any questions that come up about the investigation can be dealt with tomorrow."

"Thanks, H."

Horatio left a tip on the table and walked away.

Calleigh and Eric turned to each other, and just looked at each other for a moment before Calleigh said, "Do you want to talk about how you're really doing?"

Eric dropped his eyes to his mug of lukewarm coffee.

"Don't forget, I know what you're going through. Being that scared and helpless is something that might take some time to recover from." She tilted her head, trying to catch his eye. "But I'm going to be here for you, just like you were there for me." She brought his hand to her lips.

Eric glanced at her, then away again. "Teresa kept me sedated for a lot of the time," he said quietly. "I don't know what she might've done to me."

She thought back to when Seth McAdams had her. She told him she would rather die than have him touch her. She wasn't sure if that was true, and she sincerely hoped Eric didn't feel that way. "It doesn't matter. You're alive. That's the important thing."

He could see in her eyes that she meant it. "I was scared," he admitted. "But I wasn't as scared as she wanted me to be. Because I knew you were looking for me. You were there for me."

"Always," she promised.

Eric smiled, and then kissed her softly, not caring about being seen in public. "Thank you."

The End


End file.
